Fall Into The Light
by GlowFish
Summary: Life certainly is not what it was 24 hours ago...Ana Lucia centric, because I hated the way the show ended...R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. I don't know Ana Lucia's mother's real name, so sorry for that mistake; Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**I.**

"I'm sorry."

Whispered words of pain before a loud, earth-shattering pop. And then she felt it, something hot and metallic burrowing into her chest with the unrelenting mindlessness of a thing built to maim, built to kill. One moment of agony, one moment of pain. Louder pops. A gasp of surprise. A body slumping to the floor somewhere beyond her, but the world was already growing dark, and getting darker by the minute.

"Oh God."

Moments ticking off into moments ticking off into eternity. Darkness unending, surrounding her on all sides, drawing closer and closer as light faded from her eyes. One moment, then two and the pain dissipated into numbness and then into nothing. Nothing all at. Cold. Chill. And nothing.

"I'm so sorry."

And then her world went black.

Eyes open. Eyes closed. Brief catches of memories that fade into darkness. Voices.

_Ana, hold on!_

Amber lights. Red flashes, and the glaring whirl of blue. A man in white speaking into a walkie-talkie and the pulse of a heart monitor going berserk.

_Ana! Hold on! Just-Just hold on!_

An explosion. Wind whirling like the mind boggling, dizzying topsy-turvy world of a Dorothy being transported to Oz. A whirlwind of confusion. Screams. An airplane crash landing, and water rushing into lungs. Going under and the lulling stillness and silence of an ocean swallowing hot metal, plane engines and people alike.

_Hold on! Please!_

The whir of an ambulance and the paddles of a defibrillator. Clear! Shock. And a pulse. Life. Life fading. Men in white, and a man talking on his walkie-talkie. Man down. Man down. We need assistance here. Man down. Blood. Blood trickling from veins, potent red waters of life. Man down. Amber lights. Red flashes, and the glaring whirl of blue.

_Ana! Ana-Lucia, can you hear me?_

Hot beaches. Glowing sand. Whispers. Whispers. Strangers in a jungle world, on a mysterious island. Fear. The first night, devils from the thicket come, wearing the masks of the faces of men, and only the good ones were taken.

_Ana, please wake up! Wake up!_

Doctors crowded around. Cops in blue, in uniform, in civvies. Her mother weeping in the waiting room. Heart monitor stopping. Starting again. Stopping. Starting again.

_Ana...Ana, please..._

_Hold on._

_Hold on._

Eyes closed. Eyes opening. Eyes closed.

Eyes closed...

When next she woke it was not to the rusted roof of an underground hatch, but to the harsh fluorescence of blinding white hospital lights. There was pain in the center of her chest, as if she had been hit by a freight train. She gave a sharp gasp, shut her eyes and waited the pain out.

"Ana?" A voice floated to her ears from the world beyond. Soft, soothing, familiar. Her eyes flew open and she beheld the face of...

"Danni?"

His wide mouth broke into a relieved grin. He looked somewhere over his shoulder and called," She's awake. Thank God, she's awake."

She lifted her head slightly to look. Her mother and her partner, Big Mike, were coming into her hospital room with equal looks of relief etched into the tired wrinkles and creases of worry. She frowned and tried to sit up quickly, a question of alarm on her lips, but before she could utter her confusion, pain rushed from her chest to her brain, frazzling her nerves with agony. She hissed in pain, hand going to her chest and finding bandages tightly wound about her ribcage and breasts.

"Jeez, Ann," Danni exclaimed, hands reaching out to grab hold of her shoulders and push her back down into bed. "You've been shot. Lie down." She looked up then and recoiled, hissing again in pain and glared at him with eyes heavy and heated with pain, confusion and a touch of anger.

"Ana-?" Her mother stepped forward, brow creased in confusion. "Meja, are you alright?"

"What's--" she struggled to speak, but her voice came out coarse as if it hadn't been used in a long while. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What's-What's going on? Why are you here? Where am I?"

Her partner swore as her mother tried to approach her, glancing at Danni as she did, before turning to her daughter and holding her hands out in a placating gesture.

"Ana--"

"What the hell is going on!" Ana Lucia cried, clutching her chest as a spike of renewed pain flared. She winced and backed away from her mother's hands, glaring at all of the room's other occupants with the predatory look of a caged animal. Her eyes darted this was and that, seeing only one exit. The door. Resting behind her mother--mother? -- Danni, and her partner.

"Annie, meja, you were shot," her mother said quietly, grief evident in her tone.

"That bastard kid," her partner exclaimed. "I wish I could've gotten there sooner, Al. I should've gotten there sooner."

"We almost lost you," Danni said just as quietly as her mother. He looked at her, his brown eyes wide, haunted with dark rings, tell-tale signs of a sleepless night.

She shook her head, confused. "I-I don't understand. The plane crash. The island. I was shot. I was shot."

Her mother shot her a funny look. "Ana? What plane crash? Do you know where you are?"  
Ana looked around, face clouding with uncertainty. Clearly, she was in a hospital. The linoleum floors reflected the fluorescent lights, and the room had the sterile feel of cleanliness that she had always hated about hospitals. But she didn't know how she had gotten here, wherever here exactly was. The last thing she remembered...The last thing she remembered...

"Where's Michael? And-And--" she frowned, struggling. A grey fog was starting to cover her brain, and exact details were becoming sketchy--"Libby? Where's Libby? Is she alright? Michael shot me, and then...then..."

"Michael!" Danni and her mother exclaimed at the same time.

"Was that the kid's name?" Mike growled, his hand rubbing his right thigh where his gun usually was holstered.

"You spoke with him?" Her mother asked in surprise. Ana shook her head emphatically.

"No, No. The island. We were on the island. The plane had crashed and we...we..." Ana's voice trailed off as confusion clouded her mother, Danni's and Mike's faces.

"What-What exactly do you remember, Ana?" Danni asked cautiously.

Ana looked from one face to the other as her brain struggled to piece together the memories that were starting cloud over.

"A plane crash. We-I was on Flight eight-eight fifteen, and we-I was on my way back to Los Angeles. We crashed." Ana frowned. "I was there, with the other survivors of the plane for ninety days. We crashed. Three months. There were these Others, and they took people. Took the good ones. Left the rest of us. I-we-found other survivors. And I-I-I-I was shot. I was shot. And Libby. Shot. In the H-hatch. I was shot." Her voice took on a hysterical note, and her mother stepped forward once again to comfort her daughter. Ana Lucia leapt back, crying out as her chest flared with a vicious stab of pain.

"St-stay back!" her voice was shaking with pain. "Just-Just stay back. What the hell is going on? Why aren't I dead? I was shot. Michael shot me, and...and now, I'm here. And where the hell is here!"

"Just calm down, Ann," Danni said gently, trying to calm her. "Just calm down. It's all right. Your brain is just trying to process the trauma."

"Trauma? TRAUMA!" She laughed bitterly, then winced in pain as every drawn breath sent waves of agony to her brain. "I was shot! I was shot by Michael. Where's Jack? WHERE AM I?"  
"You're in the Intensive care ward at St Sebastian's Hospital in Downtown Los Angeles, Ms. Cortez, and could you please keep it down. There are other patients."

Ana stared in shock as her doctor came into her room with fake cheer etched into the lines of his face. The bottom dropped out of her stomach as very real fear laced its way up her spine. Her mother turned to the doctor first with a relieved look, then Danni and then her partner.

"Doctor, thank God, you're here," her mother said, the relief evident in her voice. "She's-She's not in her right mind."

"Is it the shock, doc?" Mike asked, worried. Danni nodded and as one her mother, boyfriend and partner looked to the doctor plaintively. The doctor's smile looked phony to Ana Lucia as she tried to edge away. But there was nowhere to turn, nowhere to go, and the doctor's eyes darted to her with a cold glare that froze her in her place.

"Doctor?"

The man turned back to a very worried Maria Cortez; she apparently had not noticed the glare sent her daughter's way or had misinterpreted it. He smiled his phony smile again.

"No need to worry," he said with a saccharine sweetness to his tone. "Just let me have a word with her."

Her mother looked doubtful and cast a worried glance back at her daughter. Ana pleaded with her mother with her eyes, Don't leave me. Don't leave me alone with him.

The older woman turned back to the doctor. "I don't think--"

"It's shock, Mrs. Cortez. Shock from her...situation. Please. It'll only take a minute."

Maria Cortez was doubtful again, but the doctor flashed her another saccharine smile and motioned to Danni and Mike.

"Please escort, Mrs. Cortez to the waiting area. I'll be out there in one moment. I promise."  
Danni nodded, and Ana would've cursed him if the pain in her chest weren't sending wave after wave of agony to her brain. Instead, she glared daggers at him as he and her partner escorted her mother out into the hall, towards the waiting room. The door to her room closed with a thunk that sounded of finality.

And then she was alone.

With him.

"Well, Ana Lucia Cortez, you had a pretty adventurous night, didn't you?"

The doctor turned, and Ana Lucia was face to face with Henry Gale.

Author's Note: Okay, so what do you think? It was a while beofre I could even post a thing like this because quite frankly the damn S2 pissed me off. So, I decided what the hell, why don't I do something to bring her back. **Remember, every time you review an angel gets its wings.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. I don't know Ana Lucia's mother's real name, so sorry for that mistake; Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**II.**

She didn't like the way he was looking at her. A predatory look, like a hunter that hasn't eaten for days. Ana's hands flexed involuntarily, and she wished desperately that she had a gun or a stick or knife with which to injure the man with.

He hadn't moved from his spot in front of the door, just stared at her with that look in his eyes, and she could feel the tendrils of fear coiling around her brain and rooting frantic butterflies in her stomach. She met his hungry look with wariness.

"Standing there will do wonders for the pain, Ms. Cortez, I'm sure, but it has always been in medical experience, and this is really just a suggestion, that lying down always alleviates physical discomfort," he said in a matter-of-fact tone that almost caught Ana off-guard. She blinked, glared, but didn't move a muscle. He watched her, amusement creeping across his features.

"Alright. Suit yourself." He turned to the door with a carelessness that she was sure wasn't feigned and picked her chart from the chart holder nailed to the wall. He turned back to her, but looked at her chart, his eyes brows rising and falling at what he read.

"Multiple guns shot wounds to the chest, bruising to the lungs and three broken ribs. " He looked up. Smiled. "Will this convince you to lie down, Ms. Cortez. I wouldn't want that mother of yours to sue the Hospital for patient neglect."

"You leave my mother out of this, Gale," she growled. His smile was wan.

"Finally the living statue speaks," he said with false cheer. "Now, the real clincher is will you hold still for me to do an exam?"

"What are you going here, Gale?"

His look was innocent. "I'm a doctor, Ana Lucia. What else would I be doing?" He motioned to the bed. "Now, sit."

"You know what I mean," she growled. He paused.

"Do I?" He looked thoughtful as he crossed the room to a drawer containing a few medical supplies and, putting her chart down, pulled out a pair of latex gloves. "I can't honestly say--" He pulled one glove on and let it pop against his skin. Ana jumped; he grinned wickedly--"I know what you're implying."

Her glare was heated. "Oh, you know. What am I doing here? Where is here and why am I not on the island?"

He shrugged and pulled on the other glove. He turned to her. He answered, "You're here because you were shot. You're here because you sustained serious injuries after being shot. You're here--" and the look in his eyes went blank--" because your child was murdered."

That small declaration hurt almost as much as the pain in her chest did. Her face clouded over with rage and anger, and as Henry Gale approached her, she hissed in warning. He paused in his approach momentarily, stared at her with that blank look that scared her more than his look of false cheer, before closing the distance that separated her from him. She reached out to stop him as he came near, hand free hand balling into a tight, white knuckled fist and swung with all her might. But he caught it easily as her chest screamed in pain, and she cried out in agony, his other arm moving in to wrap around her waist as she slumped against him, tears dancing at the edges of her eyes.

"Let go of me," she growled. Henry Gale chuckled.

"I don't think so, Ana Lucia," he said brightly, cheer evident in his voice once again. "You're going to sit on that bed like a good little girl and let me examine you, aren't you? Yes you are. If not, I'll make your life a living hell for as long as I have you." And squeezed the arm around her waist, crushing her ribcage. She cried out in pain as wounds not yet healed scrapped against bandages and bone.

He sat her on the hospital bed carefully, and she glared at him hatefully as he examined her.  
"It is a terrible tragedy, though," he said thoughtfully as he worked. Ana tried to drown him out. "That baby of yours. Would've been a real, handsome boy."

Ana's gut twisted, and she tried not to cry out he hit a particularly sensitive spot. What came out instead was a small whimper. Henry Gale ignored her and continued," He would've had his mother's stubborn streak, that's for damn sure--"Ana grimaced--"And his father's determination."

She wanted to kill him, rip him limp from limp, so that that sweet saccharine voice of his would be silenced, and she wouldn't have to hear him talk. Wouldn't have to hear him speak, reminding her of the past. Or the present. She frowned as he moved her right arm, winced and hissed in pain.

Was this the past? Or was it the present? And why was Henry Gale here? He should've been on the island. He should've been millions of miles a way from here, and for that matter, so should she. All she could remember was being shot by Michael, and then her world going dark, and then she woke up here, in this bed, in the hospital, a place she had thought she had left behind years ago. Was this all fake?

Ana hissed in pain as Henry Gale prodded her ribs with diligent fingers. If the pain was any indication, then this had to be real. But then what about the island? What about Jack and Sawyer? What about Eko, the kids, Shannon, Sayid? Was all that a dream? A nightmare?  
Henry Gale stood, finally finished, and there a gleam in his eye that didn't sit well with Ana at all. Her instincts, the ones that had echoed in her blood like an ancestral memory, the instincts that had been honed in the Academy, were screaming at her to run. Once long ago--or perhaps not so long ago?--she had not listened to them at all, and had paid dearly for it. She had sworn to herself that she would never ignore those instincts again. He knew something, knew what was going on, and is she were stronger she would've beaten the answers out of him. Instead, she glared at Gale suspiciously, and his saccharine grin returned.

"Well, Ana Lucia, for a woman who was shot very recently, you're doing better than expected," he said, ignoring her glare. "You should be able to go home in a few days." He turned, taking off the gloves and threw them away in the trash depository near the medical supply drawer. He retrieved her medical chart and continued, "I'll just go inform you mother, Officer Regis, and Mr.Rodriguez of your progress."

He headed towards the door, but Ana stopped him, calling his name. He turned to her with that blank look returning, but she--despite the cold chills running up and down her spine--asked him, "Where are they?"

She didn't say Jack or Locke or Eko or Sayid or Kate or Rose, or any of the others, but his blank look faded and the grin returned, haunting and chilling. He answered simply, "Oh, they're here. You'll see." Then turned away and headed out of the room. Ana Lucia lay back in her bed, a dead weight settling in her stomach and apprehension lodged in her throat.

Author's Note: I'm sort of at work and there is like only paperwork to do, and so when I get bored with that, I type, and I type fast. So this is the end result. Once again:

**Remember, kids, every time you review, an angel gets its wings.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. I don't know Ana Lucia's mother's real name, so sorry for that mistake; Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: Adrift  
**  
III.**

It was three days before she left the hospital, three days of agony in Ana Lucia's opinion, and not the physical kind of agony even though there were heaps of that too. No, it was mental agony plaguing her as more and more she realized, she was losing details in her memories. Just little things really: the way Bernard looked when he used to silently muse about his wife while the tailies survived on their lonely, but dangerous side of the island; Eko and that quiet strength that radiated from soul and gave courage to anyone he spoke to; Libby and her boundless depth of understanding; the way Jack looked when he was concentrating particularly hard on something that had captured his attention; the way Sawyer seemed to glow with absolute abandon, all cares and worries forgotten when he was in the throws of passion. But...those images were starting to fade, starting to disappear underneath the gray blanket that was clouding her mind, snatching away everything of substance. She couldn't understand it.

Had it all been a dream? Had she been trapped in some kind of limbo between the waking world and the world of dreams, between life and death, imagining these people, these lives, these dramas? Had it all been fake?

She looked out the window of Danni's SUV as he prattled on about some new gig he got, working construction for a company named Widmore, down near East LA, how much it was paying and whether or not he'd have enough money to be able to move them into a larger apartment. She let his words wash over her, not really paying attention. She wanted to care about his work, she wanted to care about his ideas about the new apartment, but as she stared out the window, eyes lighting on sun dappled lawns and children playing hopscotch on neighborhood corners, on gaggles of old ladies talking boisterously in front of a beauty parlor and a small group of teenage kids smoking near a stop light, she wondered if this world was even real too.

Was she lying dead somewhere, underneath the sifting, shifting weight of beach sand as an ocean roared somewhere beyond her shallow grave? Were there people weeping over her and was her corpse locked in the first throes of rigor mortis? Was she dreaming corpse dreams, and this place, with its old ladies and smoking teens, playing kids and sunny lawns--this place--the manufacture of electrical impulses finally shutting down in her expired brain?

"Ana? Ana Lucia?"

She turned with a start as Danni looked at her strangely. He asked, "Did I lose you for a second?"

She tried to smile, failed and said, "Just...Just being out of that hospital..."

Danni nodded wisely, smiled himself. "I do suppose it's a bit overwhelming..." He paused, a doubtful look crossing his features. "Are you-Are you--"he hesitated. Took a deep breath--"Are you thinking about it? Him? The baby?"

Ana froze for a moment, then relaxed, turned away and stared out the window as they passed an old man, haggard and worn, all his worldly possessions piled in a haphazard heap in a shopping cart, standing on a corner waiting for the light to change. She locked gazes with him for a second; he grinned a snag-o-toothed grin and waved, she waved slightly back.

"Ana?"

"I wasn't really--" she stopped, started again. "I wasn't really thinking about anything at all."

"Oh." Danni was silent for a moment as he made a turn down a street to their right. Ana turned back to her window gazing.

Truth was she hadn't thought about the baby at all. It wasn't that she didn't care, it wasn't that she had forgotten--she hadn't, and could still feel that ache, that gnawing ache of emptiness in her womb, in her heart, in her mind, that knowing that she had had life growing inside of her, foreign and alien, but still her's, still a piece and part of her--she just remembered a different time, a different life in which Danni no longer existed and her baby was dead and buried, and all that mattered underneath the daily goings about of wrecked castaways was survival. Part of her was still wrapped in the thralls of the crazy, dangerous life, still remembering instances, still feeling as if, in the next minute, whispers would swirl from underneath bushes and travel on the backs of the wind and strangers would come rushing out to snatch up the ... "good ones."

"You know," Danni said interrupting her thoughts. "We don't have to go home yet."

She thought about it for a second then shook her head. "Nah, take me home, cowboy. I could use some rest on real sheets."

Danni grinned. "Sure thing, querida."

The apartment was cleaner than she remembered it, and it smelled like spearmint and pine. Danni bustle around as she entered slowly, feeling the doorframe for a moment, settling herself in moment, wanting to feel the wood and make sure it was real. For months, she'd never even had so much as a welcome mat to step on. She breathed, gripped the doorframe one last time then stepped into the threshold.

Everything was as it had been before, had been as she remembered from years ago. The furniture, a nice set of earthy tones--Danni's idea, not her's--complimented the off-white color of the walls, giving the room a feeling of spaciousness, but also comfort so that she didn't feel boxed in nor did she feel like a lonely island in a vast empty sea; Danni always knew how to find the happy median in-between. He was bustling in the kitchen now, opening and closing cabinet doors, sifting through the refrigerator and freezer. She left him to his own doing and wandered around the apartment.

It all looked the same; she didn't know what she had been expecting. Perhaps something, anything, to tell her that this world was a lire, and the one that she just came from, the one with mangoes and a temperate climate was the real world. In that other place, and that other time, she had come home to this apartment to find Danni packing up his things, a look of set resignation on his face as he told her it was over, that he couldn't deal with her and her problems, that he'd had enough. She remembered yelling at him, betrayed, telling him that he didn't lose something like she had, that he didn't feel the agony that she felt every day, like she was a dead corpse walking. He'd left her then, in an angry huff, never looking back when his car tore out of the apartment complex, going on to his new life.

She wondered what made this world so different. What was making Danni stay? What was making him act the way that he was? She looked around again, and saw where they had set up a table filled with framed pictures of his family, her family and pictures of him and her in various stages of happiness. Valentines day, Christmas, New Years and Fourth of July, she picked up a particular picture with he and her at a friend's party--faces red as cherries and smiling, insanely drunk--some time ago, maybe even just last year--this reality's time?--where lights had been flashing in a cacophony of reds, blues, greens, hot pinks and oranges, blurs of people in the background. She studied each face curiously, trailing a finger lightly down the picture frame's edge. Suddenly, her finger stopped and she stared wide-eyed as her gaze fixed on a face, a familiar face in a frozen crowd of strangers.

Rugged was the only way to describe him, rugged with a sly grin and deep brown eyes, hair falling about his face in lank brown locks. He held a drink and in the picture had clearly been talking to the bombshell beside him, but had turned right when the photographer yelled, "Cheese!" And had flashed that sly grin.

Ana nearly dropped the frame.

"Ana!"

She looked up startled as Danni came over, face awash with concern. "I called you, like, three times. You alright."

She thrust the picture at him, ignoring his question. "Who's that in the picture? I mean, not who, but when--where--why was HE at that party?"

Danni stared at her for a long moment, a peculiar look coming into his eye, but he looked at the man in the picture that she was pointing at and shrugged.

"Some friend of Carlita's," he replied. "She invited him over last year. Some investor or salesman or something from Tennessee or Georgia, I don't know. Why do you ask?"

She pulled the picture back and stared long and hard at the man's face. "I know him."

Danni frowned. "Huh?"

"I.KNOW.HIM." Ana said, jabbing her finger at the picture. "Sawyer. Sawyer's his name."

"How d'you--?"

"He was on the--" Ana looked up as Danni got that peculiar look in his eyes again. She shook her head.

"He just...He just looks familiar."

"Yeah, from the party." Danni took the picture away from her and set it down on the table then he took her hands in his own. "You should go lie down. I'll make dinner."

Ana stared at him for a moment, long and hard. He looked away, releasing her hands and turning back to the kitchen. "Go lay down, Ana."

She nodded, still staring at him, edging towards the bedroom. She glanced back at the picture once more, catching that conman's sly grin and locking it in her memory.

She made a mental note before disappearing into the bedroom altogether: Tomorrow, she was going to contact their old friend, Carlita.

**Author's Note:** Okay, so this is like the last bit that I'll be able to add for today anyway, but don't worry more will come winks because I'm living in that happy place called 'Denial' where Ana hasn't died and she gets two of the island's sexiest hunks to herself! w00t!


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. I don't know Ana Lucia's mother's real name, so sorry for that mistake; Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**IV.**

_Ana? Ana, can you hear me?_

Whispers. Whisper everywhere. Shadows moving in the underbrush, feet slapping against wet ferns as the sky rages with a storm overhead and rain patters down in thick drops. Everything is a blur. Everything is chaos.

_Ana, wake up! Ana! _

Turning this way and that, turning everywhere to look, to see, but there was nothing to see, nothing to see except the rain, the blur of green as she whirled and the whispers rising, rushing in to cloud her mind and her senses with stifling, choking fear. She had to be ready, she had to be fierce, she had to be...

_Ana Lucia! _

In this one moment, in this one moment, everything mattered. She gripped her gun and the cold steel cut into her palm, arms tense, trigger finger ready. She wasn't going to make the same mistake again. She wasn't. Too many people died, too many people were lost...

Not again. Never again.

_Ana! Ana! _

The underbrush stirred. A figure emerged. Ana Lucia didn't blink—

Never again

--and pulled the trigger.

She snapped awake breathing hard, her heart beating frantically as the sounds of gunshots rung in her ears. She sat up quickly, hissing in pain as her still healing chest protested that action. The room was dark, and Danni was right beside her, his face tight with concern. 

"Jesus, Ana, what the hell was that!"

She turned to him, frowning, then looked away. Stared into the darkness of the world around her for long moments.

"I mean, goddammit! It was like you were having a war flashback or something," Danni continued.

She ignored his tirade and stared into the darkness, her frown deepening. There was only the closet and her's and Danni's neatly hanging clothes, Danni's posters and Ana's bookshelf and the usual clutter of life that littered a room occupied by two people. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to tell her that someone was waiting there, lurking in the darkness, the Morpheus of disturbing dreams.

"Ana? Ana, are you listening to me?" 

She glanced at Danni, who was glaring at her in irritation. She nodded, looked away. "What--Did I say anything? In my dream or nightmare or whatever?"

He paused, frowning at her. "I think we should go to the hospital. Talk to Dr. Gale." 

"No!" Ana's answer was immediate and explosive. "No. We don't need to-We don't!"

"Okay, okay," Danni said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "We won't go to the hospital, but dammit, Ana..." His voice trailed off, and he looked away. "You're scaring the crap out of me. You're really just..."

"What did I say?" she asked again. "What did I say in the dreams?"

She watched him struggle for a moment, before sighing. He met her gaze squarely. "Never again."

She sat back against the headboard of their bed as Danni continued, "What the hell does that mean anyway? "Never again"? Never again, what? "

She smiled humorlessly. "I won't--"she stopped, took a breath and her chest protested slightly--"Never again. Not another death. Not another...I won't get shot. Not again."

He paused, looked at her, brows furrowing. "I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't--but Ana, it's--You've--It feels like you're on a completely different planet. I mean, I know Dr Gale--"Ana grimaced--"said it's probably just the shock. That you're still trying to process...everything, but since you left the hospital..." He turned to her, that peculiar look coming into his eyes again. "What's happening, Ana?"

I might be losing my mind, Ana wanted to say. Instead, she shrugged. "Nothing. Nothing, I guess. Just the shock as Dr-Dr. Gale said."

His peculiar look deepened. "Maybe, but that whole fixation of an island--" 

"--is just a fixation," she lied. She tried to smile, didn't and looked away. "Look, I just gotta deal with the stress on my own."

"No, you don't," Danni said firmly, reaching and taking her chin in his hand, craning her face towards his. "We're a couple. Means we're a team. You suffer, I suffer."

Ana stared at him, wondering once again about this new Danni that she was presented with. This reality's Danni that was actually trying, that was actually reaching out and trying to make an effort, a Danni who wasn't packing up after just a few weeks of silence, of stress and grief and leaving her to deal with the death of their child alone. And once again wondered if this world was even real or was this the last vestiges of life trickling out of her blood stream. Was this her own subconscious' effort to make her death less painful than it was? Was it trying to give her a resolution? 

"Danni--"

"Go to sleep, Ana," he said cutting her off. The peculiar look had vanished. "Just go to sleep. I'll watch over you."

She frowned, but he stroked her cheek with a gentle smile. She wanted to pull away, wanted to shake him and ask him if this were all a big joke. Did she dream up three years of hell? Did she dream up a plane crash and spending ninety days on a hostile, jungle island? Did she make up these lives, these nightmares just to stop herself from grieving her child? Her hand reflexively went to her stomach, her womb, which was empty of the life that had once occupied it.

He would've had her stubborn streak, Gale had said, and his father's determination. 

But how could Gale have known she was pregnant? He was one of the Others. He was the enemy, and even in this world he seemed like he knew more than he was letting on. Or did he? Was she imagining things as much as that jungle island? Was her paranoia sweeping in and taking over her brain so fully that everything she knew and held familiar was becoming suspicious and strange?

Was this the way she was grieving for the lost life of her child?

Ana stared at Danni long and hard, and he leaned over, kissing her softly on the lips, before pulling back and motioning with his chin for her to go to sleep. She stared at him a second longer before looking away and turned, lying down carefully. Ana closed her eyes with Danni watching her, but it was a long time before she could get any real sleep.

The next morning found her creeping out of the bed, not wanting to disturb the slumbering figure of her Danni as early morning sunlight slanted in through the windows from the world outside. She crept out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen, seeking privacy. Danny's brief case was hanging from the back of a chair, and she went rooting through it, trying to find his day planner. She knew that if Danni considered something worth remembering, he would jot it down in the planner. Finally, she found it and sat at the kitchen table, wincing a little when her chest protested, riding out the discomforting pain, before opening the leather bound book to look for Carlita's number.

She remembered Carlita from college, having met her through Danni, while Ana Lucia was just entering into the Academy and Danni was just finishing up his Bachelor's Degree in Business at the local college. She was a spunky woman, a wild child who seemed like she would be more comfortable running around naked in the streets then wearing the mismatching skirts and tub tops that she usually wore. Ana remembered thinking, when she first met Carlita, that if that girl wasn't going to be a rock star's girlfriend, she most certainly was going to end up be the leader of her own band. 

Finally, she found the woman's number, scribbled in Danni's wavy scrawl, "Carlita Zuniga-Sanchez" and her number right beside it. She stood carefully, mindful of her chest, and retrieved the kitchen telephone. Dialing the numbers, she put the phone to her ear and waited, hearing a click and then the phone ringing as the call was being placed.

A tendril of apprehension wound its way into her gut, and she tried to push it away, but it became more persistent, sending nervous chills up and down her spine.

What if Carlita couldn't help her? What if Carlita herself had only met Sawyer in passing at that party and didn't even remember him herself? What if Carlita thought she was crazy and called Danni back, and Danni took her back to St Sebastian's, back to Gale?

The apprehension curled her stomach into knots, but before she could talk herself into hanging up the phone and to seeking out the location of Sawyer some other way, someone picked up on the other end of the line with a cheerful, "Casa de Zuniga-Sanchez, paradise at its finest." 

"Hello?" Ana called into the phone in confusion. "Is this Carlita?"

"Yes, this is she," answered the voice on the line. "And who, may I inquire, are you?"

"Um…Carlita, I don't know if you remember me," Ana started. Her stomach did flip flops. "But I'm Daniel Santivanez's girlfriend, Ana Lucia Cortez."

There was a gasp on the other end and then, "My God, HI! I haven't heard from you guys in ages! I thought Danny-boy'd forgotten me. How've you been?"

Ana Lucia let out a low, relieved sigh. "No, No, he hasn't forgotten. Actually, I've been better. Look, Carlita, I really need your help."

There was a pause. "Sure, Ana Lucia. What is it?" 

Ana hesitated, took a breath. "I was wondering, you remember that New Year's party you invited us to? We got the pictures and, well, I was just looking over one of them the other day and I couldn't help, but notice that in one of the pictures there was a man that looked incredibly familiar to me."

"Familiar? Really? Who?"

"Well, he had brown hair and brown eyes, a sly grin, and maybe a Southern accent," Ana explained. "I remembered him from-from--"Ana racked her brain for a split-second trying to come up with a believable excuse--"one of the-one of the training classes at the Academy, and I was wondering if you are still in contact with him."

"Brown hair and eyes, sly grin," Carlita repeated after a brief pause. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Ana nearly swore. She took a deep breath, said," Well, his name was Sawyer. Sawyer, does that ring a bell?" 

There was a longer pause on the line, and Ana held her breath.

Finally, "It does sound vaguely familiar. Hang on." 

Ana waited, listening in tense silence as the sound of papers being shifted and scattered met her ears. There was a bang, a mild curse and finally, Carlita returned to the phone sounding breathless. 

"Got it," the woman replied, triumphant. "I DO remember him. He was that Texan or Georgian or something or other. Flirted the pants off a friend of mine, then left her high and dry the next day." Carlita snorted. "You sure he was training to be a cop?" 

"Sure," Ana lied. Carlita snorted again.

"I got his number," she said. "I remembered he wrote it on my jeans trying to be smooth. You want it?"

"Yes." Ana hoped her voice didn't sound too excited. Carlita snorted again and told her the number. Ana scrambled to find a pen in the one of the kitchen drawers nearby, and when she did, she wrote it on the inner side of her palm. After thanking Carlita profusely and promising that Danni would call her before the week was out, Ana hung up and went to the kitchen table and sat for a moment, sighing in relief.

Then she stood, rubbing her sore chest lightly and went back to the bedroom.  
She had some investigating to do.

Author's Note: Yeah, I was only able to work on Chapter 4, but I'm working on 5 as we speak. So, tell me...what does eveyone think?


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**V.**

The police station was bustling and full of activity when Ana Lucia stepped through the doorway. She breathed deep, savoring the lingering smells of sweat, leather, starched uniforms and the underlying scent of unused gunpowder, and looked around. It was just as she remembered it: large, but still managing to be stuffy, with posters of wanted felons taped and pinned up messily along the station's white boards and walls, the coffee machine was steadily brewing the station's pick-me-up while some members of the LAPD were sitting at desks answering phones ringing on and off, handling paperwork, dealing with disgruntled citizens, the occassional lawbreaking criminal, and other officers were running too and fro on their own busy errands.

Ana smiled. It was great to be home.

"Hey, Al, on your feet already?"

She turned, startled at the call and was greeted by the welcome sight of a young officer in full uniform, hair cut short, eyes bright blue and twinkling in merriment as he took in her civilian wear.

Officer Raggs.

Ana smiled at him and shrugged.

"Can't stay away, man. It spices things up."

His smile turned into grin. "You know the captain'll have a fit if she finds you here. You're on leave."

To that, Ana looked around quickly to making sure her mother wasn't in the vicinty. Raggs chuckled knowingly.

"She's not here. There was some meeting at city hall," Raggs explained. "You're safe."

Ana shot him a look, sighed and asked, "Where's Mike?"

Raggs shrugged. "Patrol duty. Captain assigned him a new recruit to train until you got back on your feet." He paused suddenly in hesitation, the sparkle in his eyes dimming slightly. "Hey, Ana?"

Her eyebrow quirked in response. "Yeah?"

Raggs looked away. "You are coming back, right? I mean, your mother didn't say anything, but we sort of heard about...well...you know...We heard about what happened."

Ana swallowed, looked away herself and remembered. She remembered what it had been like to return to this place in that other time, in that other world and that other life, remembered what it had been like to slip back into the Uniform, to feel the reassuring weight of the pistol at her side like a long missed companion. Her stomach twisted rememering the sorrow, the pain, the anguish, buried underneath a hard shell, a granite rock of cold determination, locked away, so that she didn't have to think about,didn't have to recall that there had been life inside of her, there had been _life_, and that she had lost her chance to see that tiny child, that innocent baby live and grow because of her mistake.

He would have had her stubbornness, Gale had said, and his father's determination. Her stubbornness and his father's determination. And once again Ana was puzzled as to how this world's Gale knew so much. Why did he know so much? Where did he get his knowledge? And what did that mean for her?

Ana shook her head to clear her thoughts, squared her shoulders and met Ragg's doubtful gaze head on, nodding. "I'll-I'll be coming back. You can count on that."

Raggs' smile was a slow, relieved one, and his blue eyes regained some of their earlier sparkle. "Fantastic."

She smiled slowly herself, feeling a swell of warmth for the man before her, before swallowing and saying,"Look...um, let's not get into this sappy crap, alright? I'm here on official business."

He grinned again, eyes twinkling. "Alright, Officer Cortez. What's your business?"

Ana dug into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to Raggs. He took it, opened it and looked it over, frowning. He looked up and met her intent gaze in puzzlement.

"It's just a name and a number. What do you want me to do with this?"

"I want you to run it through the system, see if you come up with any hits."

Raggs' frown was immediate and suspicious. "This isn't the guy who--"

Ana shook her head emphatically. "No. No." She pointed. "He's...Look, it's important that you do this for me. I need to find this guy."

Raggs' look was dubious. "Why?"

"Look, I can't tell you any more than what I have. He's just really...Look, I gotta find him."

Raggs looked back down at the slip of paper in his hand, stroking it speculatively between thumb and forefinger. Ana held her breath. Finally, Raggs met her gaze and nodded.

"I'll see what I can do. It'll take me a minute though."

"I don't care as long as you find him."

Raggs nodded and turned to go, but stopped and turned back. He said, "Ana, if he is the one who...Look, you can't play the hero. You can't be the vigilante. I know you're...hurting, but taking this guy out? Ana, if he's...just let us bring this guy in, alright? Let us do this."

"It's not him," Ana said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "It's...not. I just...I have to find this guy."

"Okay," Raggs said and walked away. Ana sighed, rubbed her face with one hand wearily. She looked around, searching for a place tosit; her chest was starting to ache with a dull throb of pain. She breathed slowly, and finally saw a set of metal chairs nailed to the station's wall across from her. Shewalked across the station quickly, sidestepping other officers, waving at the few that greeted her as she passed. She reached the set of chairs and sat down gratefully with a sigh, rubbing her ribs lightly to alleviate the pain.

The station bustled around her, and with the exception of the occassional greeting, Ana was left alone with her thoughts, and inevitably turned to the man she was looking for, and desperately hoped to find.

Her stomach twisted into anxious knots when she thought of him, that conman with a Southern gentleman's charm. If she did actually find him, would he even know her? Would he even remember the island like she? Was he, even now, looking and searching for clues of the other passengers of flight 815? Her stomach twisted even more as nervous butterflies suddenly started to flutter madly. Would he...Would he remember how they had last parted ways? Would he remember what it had felt like, the tension, the passion, of two people with absolutely nothing in common, coming together for a brief span of time, unleashing their anger and frustration, their fear and lust, in a wild power play of bodies and sweat, grappling hands, raking,scratching nails and intense kisses that bruised the lips and left them red and swollen like cherries? Ana Lucia shivered at the memory.

She didn't know what she would do if she was the only one--if she was the only one who remembered the island, the plane crash, the hellish days on that jungle rock. She needed to know the others were out there, she needed to know if they remembered what she remembered, felt what she was feeling right now: confusion, uncertainty. She needed to know if they were out there trying to put the pieces together, trying to understand why this world was here and why this timeline existed. Because if she found them then she'd know she wasn't losing her mind.

Ana sat forward in her chair, wincing at her chest's sharp protest of the movement, and put her face in her hands. She sighed and felt a sudden weariness settle about her shoulders. What if none of this were real? she wondered not for the first time. What if everything she was looking at, everything she could smell and taste and feel--the brush of wind as someone passed her on their busy-body way, the feeling of the hard metal seat below her, the throbbing ache of her chest--was just the split second flash of life before her eyes before her life drained out of her forever? What if she was--right now--still seated on that chair in the Hatch with Michael pointing that gun at her, pulling the trigger, feeling the life bleed out of her?

"Ana?"

She looked up with a start. Raggs was standing there with three thick manila folders in his hands. She sat up straighter, pushing her troubled thoughts aside.

"Are those--"

Raggs nodded. "I almost didn't find the bastard. Sawyer's his alias. His real name is James Ford." He handed her the three manila folders. "I made you copies of his file. He's some con man from the South. Been evading the police for while. Fifteen arrest warrants in six states. Every time someone tries to catch him, he skips town and disappears, goes underground. Then he resurfaces months later only to give police the same run around."

Ana took the files, opening the largest folder, and flipping through it. She stopped on a picture of his mug shot, and noticed, even then, that he had had a sly, pretentious grin written across his face. She wanted to snort.

"His last known address is in the last folder," Raggs was saying. Ana looked up, but the man wasn't looking at her; he was staring off into space. "But it probably won't do you any good. That place was raided last month. No sign of him anywhere."

Ana nodded and, hefting the three folders, stood. "Thanks for all your help, man. This...This means alot."

Raggs' turned to her with an intent gaze. "Anything I can do to help. We gotta keep these scumbags off the street somehow."

Ana nodded, smiled. "I guess so." She edged toward the station's exit. "I'll be seeing you."

Raggs' gaze was still intent as he nodded, lifting his hand and waving slightly. "See you."

Ana gripped the folders to her chest tightly and headed towards the exit, sidestepping a gaggle of complaining teenagers and the annoyed cop who had to deal with them. She was almost passed the station's threshold when Raggs called her, "Ana! Ana, wait!"

She paused, looked back.

"Be careful!" he called, worry evident in his tone. She shot him a thumps up gesture as she walked over the threshold and onto the sidewalk outside. He smiled and she turned away.

There was a glint of metal and the echo of island whispers suddenly surging from her memory, filling her ears, the muffled intake of a sharp gasp and then Ana met the hard body of a man walking swiftly down the sidewalk as she stepped out into the warm rays of a California sun.

Her chest screamed in pain at the impact, the manila folders and papers scattered and Ana gasped from the agony surging through her, trying to stay upright despite the black spots dancing at the edges of her eyes, the sudden nausea of pain and the trembling in her legs, tale-tells signs that her knees could giveout at any second. It was tortuous to breath and Ana wobbled on her feet even as strong pair of hands slid around her shoulders and a deep, accented voice said with some concern,"Miss? Miss, are you...are you alright? I didn't see you. Miss?"

Ana swallowed, gritting her teeth and nodding. Tears were balanced precariously at the edges of her eyes, but she held them at bay, struggling to right her breathing.

"Perhaps...a hospital? Miss, are you...?" The man's grip tightened around her shoulders, warm and solid, and suddenly, from under the haze of pain came the sudden thought, 'This feels nothing like Danni.'

"I'm-I'm alright," Ana was finally able to gasp out. She looked up, saw the man's face. Her eyes widened to surprised, bewildered saucers.

"You-You-You--" She couldn't speak, didn't trust herself to speak. The man's look became peculiar: a look of familiarity tinged with puzzlement at the familairity.

"I...know you," he said slowly. Ana nodded, still too surprised to speak. The man frowned.

"I've seen you...in my...dreams?" The man's frown deepened. "How?"

Ana shook her head, eyes still wide. "S-S-Sayid?"

The man's eyes widened considerably. "My name. You know my...name. How do you--?"

"SAYID!" He looked back quickly. There was another Iraqi man approaching the two from the opposite direction on the sidewalk. Ana turned to Sayid, but he was staring at the man with a look of resignation on his face. He glanced at her and the look cleared. He stepped away from her quickly, and Ana didn't understand why she suddenly missed the warmth of his arm around her. 

"I am sorry, miss," he began, stooping to pick up her fallen papers quickly. Ana stared at him in shock.

"That's-That's...I mean, you don't have to." And she stooped to help him.

The Iraqi man that had called to Sayid earlier stopped a few feet away and watched, hands palying nervously in his pockets, his eyes darting this way and that, but Sayid didn't acknowledge him. He continued until he had gathered most of Ana Lucia's paperwork as she was hastily stuffing the rest in one of the available folders. She reached to grab a final sheet, turned face down, but Sayid beat her to it. He turned it overand gasped, his eyes widening.

"This man," he looked up, holding the sheet up for her to see. It was Sawyer's mug shot. "You are seeking him, yes? I know his face too."

Ana nodded. "You should."

Sayid looked at the picture closely. "How--? I _know_ this face. I know yours. I don't understan--"

Suddenly, the Iraqi man stepped forward and said something in his native tongue that made Sayid glare at him sharply. The man swallowed thickly, said something else and Sayid growled something back. He turned back to Ana Lucia as she looked between the two men, frowning.

"I must speak with you concerning this..." He trailed off and held out Sawyer's picture. Ana nodded, pushing away the frightened butterflies that suddenly quivered in her stomach. After all, it seemed Sayid was just as bewildered about this world as she was. And while he did have some inkling of who she was, he didn't seem to remember _exactly_ who she was.

She nodded and stood, gathering her file to her and holding out her free hand for the rest. Sayid gaveher thepaperwork he had,but was hesitatn about relinquishing the picture. He stared at it with a frwon on his face, as if he were trying to map out the con man's features, commiting them to memory, and when hefinally gave her the picture it was with some reluctance.

He reached into his pocket as Ana gathered the paperwork and placed it in the other folders. He handed her a card.

"My name is Sayid Jarrah, but you already knew that." His look was speculative as she took the card. "Call that number, and ask for me, and I will come."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"No thank you, An--" His brow furrowed. "Ana...Ana L--...Ana Lucia?"

She nodded,and his frown deepened. "Call me soon."

She nodded again, and after one last look, Sayid headed off with the other Iraqi down the street. Ana stared after him as he glanced back before disappearing around a bend in the road.

"My God," she said.

Author's Note: Hey all! Sorry for the hold-up, my muse decided to evil kicks muse and forced me to work on my other fandoms, but I have come with the fifth installment. What d'you think? I said it was going to be surrpising, didn't I?

Oh yeah, I wasn't sure of Ana's relationship with officer Raggs. I used for my sources and they don't give much personality-wise for lesser known characters, so if he's not canon, that's my mistake as well..

oh, and don't worry...Sawyer's coming up soon...

w00t!


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**VI.**

It was midday when Ana Lucia reached the address written down in Sawyer's file. She stepped out of the taxicab after paying the driver and scanned the neighborhood. It was a pretty dilapidated part of town: broken streets in serious need of repair, run down houses, and paper and trash strewn along cracked sidewalks. The streets were deserted and silence settled over everything like a shroud. Even the sound of the taxi's engine and the blare Indian music from the driver's radio, was sucked into the permeating quiet like a vacuum. She frowned and stepped away from the cab, shutting the door. Looked around some more.

The file said the house was a bright red one, sitting on the corner of two intersecting streets. There were only two intersecting streets in this neighborhood, and she'd already seen the house on the first street. It was a blue one, not red, and in moderately good condition considering the neighborhood.

She turned in a full circle, and when she finally saw the house, gaped in surprise.

The house was decrepit and bleak, and overwrought by a wild jungle of plants, vines and weeds, nearly swamping it in a tangle of green living plants and the withered brown of dying plants as well. The red paint was chipped and faded, like blood the color of rust. Ana Lucia grimaced; Sawyer could not have possibly lived here, could he?

She crept up the broken sidewalk as the taxicab drove slowly away, manila folders still clutched in her arms, eyes scanning the property carefully for any sign of movement or life. There was nothing, not even the comforting caw of a bird or the chirp of an insect. It seemed like life had abandoned this old place. There was no one on the streets, only parked cars, rusted and old, some of them without wheels, others of them with their parts lying beside them, gutted and on display for the whole world to see. Ana shivered. She did not like this place. She did not like this place at all. 

She crept further up the broken sidewalk, looking for a path or walkway, anything, that could lead her to the front door: a decomposing piece of wood, hanging off its hinges. She grimaced again, swallowed and stepped forward, picking her way through the tangles of bushes, weeds and overgrown stalks of grass. There was no path to speak of, just an occasional stone poking up from the earth. Ana stepped gingerly over those that she could find until she ended up at the front porch. She stepped up the corroding stairs carefully, sidestepping crumbling holes and planks, finally reaching the door. She took a deep breath, pushed the door aside. It gave a long, low moan like an injured and dying thing, sending a shiver running up and down Ana Lucia's spine as she stepped inside.

The smell was unbearable. It was the sickening sweet stench of rotted things, decaying things, and Ana Lucia grimaced, covering her mouth in revulsion.

"Damn," she said, disgusted, and crept further into the house. It was as devoid of life as the street outside and just as quiet, her careful steps didn't even echo in the silence. Another anxious shiver ran up and down her spine, but she continued forward determined to find Sawyer, or a clue as to where the man could be now. She checked the first floor of the house, but there was nothing, just that disgusting smell, rotting furniture, and in the kitchen the remains of a molding and fungus-covered plate of food that was left behind, unfinished, in haste.

She crept up the house's stairs, in even worse condition then the stairs outside. She gripped the railing like her life depended on it, testing each step before putting her full weight on it. Eventually, she made it to the second floor, and looked around. There was only one bedroom up here, and a bathroom. She checked the bathroom first, but there was nothing there. She turned to the bedroom, and with a steeling breath, she pushed the bedroom's mildew-covered door open and stepped inside.

Empty, save a bed with a threadbare mattress. Sunlight streamed in through windows naked of blinds and curtains. The room looked as if it, in some golden year of the house's prime, had actually looked pretty and worth sleeping in. Ana gave a frustrated sigh. But there was no one here now, no one and nothing to tell her whether or not Sawyer had been here recently or where he had gone to since leaving. She hefted her files, ready to give up and return home, her chest was starting to hurt and Danni was sure to be worried about her. She turned, but a glint of light caught her eye. It was coming from the bedroom's single closet. It was cracked open slightly, permitting a little sunlight to slant into the gloom. Ana squinted, but could see nothing else inside the closet except that glint of light. She approached slowly, her heart suddenly thumping in her chest, blood rushing in her ears. She lay a hand flat on the closet door, before letting it drift to the knob. She grabbed hold of the small metal globe, gripped it hard and, taking a deep breath, pulled the door open.

There was notihng hangingon the abandoned hangers that had been left behind by the house's previous occupant, but on the floor of the closet was a duffel bag, a very new duffel bag; it looked like it had hardly been used at all. She frowned and kneeled, laying aside her armful of manila folders, and pulled the bag out of the closet. She ran her hands over it before going for the zipper and pulling it open. Her eyes widened. Money. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars all tightly and neatly wrapped in ties and ties of rubber bands and secured in plastic wrap.

"Oh my God," she whispered in awe. She reached into the bag, hand ghosting over the money as a wash of something strange and indefinable rushed through her. Island whispers, a sudden tightness squeezing her stomach into a knot and then--

"Now, didn't your daddy ever teach you that curiosity killed the cat?"

Ana turned in surprise, and there stood, with the same twisted grin as in his mug shot, James Ford.

"Sawyer," Ana Lucia said, breathless, her eyes wide, her heart pounding so loud it sounded like a pack of wild horses running through her veins.

"It's about time," Sawyer whispered, a devious look in his eye. When Ana didn't move, he sighed in exasperation. "You gonna stay on that floor gawking or are you gonna come over here and show me how much you missed me?"

Ana rose slowly, glaring at him as a rush of heat swept through her. She refrained from commenting and, instead, pointed at the bag, asked, "What's this?"

Sawyer's smile was slow. "Just a little insurance."

Ana didn't return the smile. Sawyer stepped forward slowly, opened his arms wide in a placating gesture. "Look, that ain't got nothing to do with you, and I _know_ that's not why you're here."

She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. "And how can you be so sure?"

Sawyer's grin returned. "Honestly? You probably would've tackled me by now. Not to say that you won't either way, but..." His grin widened. "Now, just give me the bag."

"Why should I?"

"Because we got a lot to discuss."

"What does that have to do with the bag?"

Sawyer's grin dropped. "Don't be stupid , Ana. That don't concern you. Now, you just--"

"Once a hick, always a hick," she cut in, crossing the distance between them. Sawyer's eyes widened considerably before she pulled his face close to her's, and whispered,"Just shut up and kiss me, you redneck."

And he did. Hot, passionate and full of everything that she remembered from that day on the island, her final day, when she and he...

Ana pulled back, breathless, meeting Sawyer's eyes. They blazed with a predatory look of hunger and desire. He licked red, bruised lips and grinned.

"Damn," he said, the desire evident in his voice. He looked around, studying the room. He eyed the bed, grimaced and turned, meeting her gaze again. "Much as I'd like to keep going, sex in a broken down house just ain' tmy thing."

"What makes you think you'll even get that far?" she asked the ghost of a smile playing across her lips. She stepped away from him as that predatory look returned to his gaze.

He smirked. "Trust me. I could get that far."

She only met his smirk with one of her own.

"Now we gotta get out of here," Sawyer continued, walking past her and towards the duffel bag. Ana watched him look inside before zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder. A slight frown creased her brow, but she didn't comment, only asked, "Why?"

"Well, I figure you'd like to see the 'padre'," he replied. Her jaw dropped.

"Eko? Eko's here?"

Sawyer nodded. "I been holding up with him since the police raided this place some time ago."

"So, so, you remember?" she questioned. He shrugged.

"It's spotty," he replied truthfully. "I remember somethings--"And winked at her knowingly; Ana refused to blush--"but then the rest is a blur. Eko remembers some too. Not everything, but enough."

Ana nodded. Sawyer studied her. "Did you--I mean--have you met anyone else?"

She met his gaze, replied, "Yeah. Sayid. Sayid's here in LA too."

Sawyer shook his head with a knowing grin. "Should've known Osama would've been here." He was silently for a moment, before looking around again, then he stepped past her towards the door. "Look, let's get going."

"What's the rush?" She was picking up a sudden and very nervous vibe from Sawyer. He looked around again, met her gaze squarely.

"We shouldn't dawdle," he replied and took her hand in his, pulling. "Let's just get out of here. I'll feel safer at the church."

Ana nodded, keeping her questions to herself--at least, until she saw Eko. She pulled out of his graspfor a second, and went to retrieve the police files on Sawyer, then returned to his side. He raised a questioning brow.

"You're pretty wellknown in the criminal underground," she replied. He grinned.

"You have no idea," he replied and lead her out the door.

**tbc...**

Author's Note: This chapter might be shorter than the others, but only because I'm doing research on Mr. Eko. Wheeeeeeeee! So here's chapter six...Soon: CHAPTER SEVEN!


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

888

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**VII.**

The Holy Church of St. Christopher was an oasis of towering parapets, sweeping arches, and glass that shone like diamonds in the middle of Los Angeles traffic. Ana Lucia craned her head back, trying to take the tall structure in. It was made of white stone and aged wood, and the stained glass windows depicted the many acts of different Catholic saints: St. Anthony of Padua holding a depiction of the Christ Child, St. Jude holding a staff and walking a well traveled path with a halo over his head, and many others. The saint for whom the church was named after had the largest window: a large man carrying a baby on his back while trying to cross a rushing river.

"St. Christopher," Sawyer said coming to stand beside her and regard the church. She turned to him with a frown.

"Who?" she asked. He grinned.

"St. Christopher," he said again. "One of six Patron Saints of Travelers. That baby on his back was supposed to be Christ. As legend has it, Christopher did God's work by helping travelers cross rivers, and then this kid goes and asked him for a lift. Well, Christopher carries him across but as he's doing so, the kid gets heavier and heavier until Christopher asks him why, and the kids says: 'I'm Christ, and the reason I'm so heavy is because I'm carrying the weight of the world on my back'."

Ana smirked. "Getting religion, Sawyer? Never thought you had it in you."

Sawyer returned the smirk. "I don't. Eko was talking about him to the congregation once, and I just so happened to listen in that day."

Ana shook her head as Sawyer grasped her hand and led her up the steps of the church. There were a few parishioners inside the building, most with their heads bowed in prayer, a few were at the altar and one of them was talking to one of the priests on duty. It was quiet in here, quiet in the sense that there was a quaking noise underlying that silence. An couldn't describe it. Maybe it was her Catholic upbringing surfacing, but every time she stared up at the altar with the statue of its Virgin Mary and baby Jesus staring down at the parishioners with the critical superiority of a divine being, she felt a weight settling about her shoulders, much like St. Christopher.

Sawyer lead her away from the statue's eyes boring holes into her back, towards a back door that lead to other parts of the church not accessible to anyone other than the priests.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they descended a set of rickety stairs. The stairwell smelled of must and age, like a bookstore that's sat alone and empty with stale books collecting dust on its shelves. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, but it did make the air stuffy.

"You'll see," Sawyer answered and continued down the stairs. They ended up in a hallway. It was long and made of concrete with water stains covering the walls in black streams and rust. The air felt much cooler down here than in the stairwell, and Ana Lucia couldn't help, but feel like she was encased in a very large tomb. She wondered if her dead body was feeling like this on the island, wondered if dead bodies could feel after the spirit fled and left the body lifeless. Wondered if there were still enough electrical pulses that had not faded after the initial death that could still tell the body, 'You are dead. You are dead, and this is eternity. This darkness is unending. This is forever.'

Assuming, of course, that her body was still even on the island. She had more than enough doubts.

"Gale," she said suddenly, her voice echoing in the tunnel. Sawyer stopped and turned with a frown.

"What?"

"I assume you know about Gale," she said slowly. He waved airily with his free hand and shrugged.

"I remember bits and pieces," Sawyer replied. "Henry, right? Like I said, my memory is pretty sketchy."

Ana waved that admission aside. "He's here too."

Sawyer frown turned to suspicion. "What do you mean, 'He's here'?"

"He's here, in this world, this place," Ana replied, struggling to put a label to the current position she found herself in. Sawyer cursed soundly.

"Dammit!" He turned away from her , his breathing suddenly increased. He turned back to her, a wild look coming into his eyes. "C'mon, we gotta find Eko."

She frowned. "Why? What's up?"

"Look, we're not safe yet," he replied, reaching to take her hand. She recoiled, her frown deepening.

"What do you mean?"

Sawyer sighed in exasperation. "Look, I'll explain when we get to Eko."

"No, you explain now," Ana Lucia replied, squaring her shoulders and planting her feet. She glared at him. "C'mon. Spill it."

Sawyer sighed loudly. "We don't got time for this. If Gale's here, then there's a lot more of Them here then I expected."

"Them?" Ana Lucia's heart stopped as the bottom dropped out of her stomach, then it came slamming back to life, beating like a pack of wild horses. "What you mean 'Them'?"

"The Others, Ana Lucia," Sawyer replied, grimly. "They're here."

Sawyer started forward down the hall, stopped and turned back. "C'mon. We gotta go see 'padre'."

She nodded, swallowed thickly and started after him.

888

Eko's office was sparse, as if no one had occupied it at all. There were very few personal affects, just a few books on the shelves and a few pictures on the desk; nothing to really reveal what personality was behind the man who worked in this office. Ana Lucia went to bookshelf as Sawyer left her alone to find Eko. Her hand ghosted over the book titles: the King James Version Bible, another Bible written in Nigerian and a book on prayers in Latin with English translations. She picked up the prayer book, cracked it open to a random page, scanning what was written.

She whispered, ""Aurora iam spargit polum"… "The dawn is sprinkling in the east"… "Iam vana noctis decidant"… "Away, ye midnight phantoms all!"… "Quicquid tenebris horridum"… "Whatever guilt the night has brought"… "Nox attulit culpae, cadat"… "Now let it vanish into air"."

"Aurora iam spargit polum," came a familiar voice behind her. "The Dawn is Sprinkling in the East."

Ana turned, and there stood Eko in his priestly attire, smiling at her, his eyes twinkling with merriment and relief. Ana sighed, relieved herself.

"Eko," she said simply, smiling.

"Ana Lucia," he said just as simple.

"Alright. Alright," Sawyer said loudly coming into the room. "Re-introductions are over, let's get down to business."

Eko stepped aside to let him pass with a raised eyebrow. He shot a look at Ana, but she shook her head and shrugged.

"Uh, hello?" Sawyer said waving to the both of them. "Sit." He pointed to Eko's chair behind the desk and a chair for Ana Lucia. "We don't got much time for dilly-dallying."

"Right," Eko replied, his face transforming from that of a priest to something akin to a ferocious tiger. Ana remembered seeing that look only a few times on the island, and usually she steered clear. It reminded her of the intense looks some of the more difficult criminals wore when she and her partner tried to apprehend them: a no-nonsense look, a look of such set determination, such razor sharp conviction. Ana swallowed and took a set, wondering what it was exactly that she was about to hear.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**VIII.**

The night was dark, as Ana Lucia walked home, Sawyer beside her, quiet and wrapped in his own thoughts. Her own silence was heavy, and her thoughts were a myriad of confusion and chaos as her heart twisted in her chest, leaping at the slightest sound the night made. The sound of a cricket, the scuttling of some nocturnal animal in the trashcans, the distant sound of a car horn blaring in a far off part of the city, all made her jump with apprehension. Were They out there? Were They behind all the confusion in her thoughts and heart? Were They the reason she was no longer on the island and in this place? And where was this place anyway? What was it? Or was it just a figment of her imagination playing out as she died?

She shook her head, wonderingly, thinking back on the conversation she had had only hours before with Eko and Sawyer at the church.

"They are all around us, Ana Lucia," Eko started, after he had sat himself behind his desk and she had taken her seat beside an impatient Sawyer.

"The Others?" she asked, apprehension creeping into her tone. She tried to push away her growing fear, but it refused to buried under faux courage. It rose up like a flood and washed over her like a tsunami.

Eko nodded, his manner grave. He said, "They are here, in this place, in this world. They watch."

Despite her fear, Ana was puzzled.

"How is that possible?" She asked. "I remember the island. I remember crashing there. I remember a life three years into the future, and I damn sure remember being shot. How is this—" And she waved her arm to encompass his entire office—"even possible?"

To that, Mr. Eko could provide no answers. Sawyer spoke up.

"We're not sure how we got here," he replied slowly, this Southern drawl thicker as he considered his answer. "I most definitely ain't sure. I remember the island, just like you. I remember the crash, but then I'm here, and I don't know how I got here. I don't know if this is some other world, some other plane of existence, Heaven, Hell, I just don't know. But I do know the Others are here. I do know that They're around. I've seen Them."

Ana shook her head in confusion. "I don't understand."

"And you think we do?" Sawyer suddenly snapped in sarcasm. Eko shot him a look. He shrugged, muttering, "Well, we don't."

She ignored him and turned back to Eko. The priest sighed and rubbed his face wearily before looking at her with an intense look. She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. He said, "All I know is that They are here, and that They are surprised we know about Them and Their existence. They are surprised that Sawyer and I remember each other, no matter how minuet and scrambled the memories are, and I am sure They are surprised about you too."

Ana frowned. "Why? I mean, why are They—how is it possible that They're here? Do They know about the island too? Do They remember—"

Eko nodded. Ana's frown deepened. "How do you know?"

"Let's just say we ran into an old friend of your's," Sawyer replied with a sardonic twist to his lips.

"Who?" Ana asked, almost fearing the answer.

"Goodwin."

She felt the bottom drop from her stomach and gasped in shock. "G-Goodwin?" She turned to Eko who nodded solemnly. She turned back to Sawyer and that sardonic twist still covered his lips.

"Don't worry, Lulu," he said, his lips becoming a animalistic grin. "I took care of him."

She shuddered and looked away. She didn't want to know what he meant, didn't want to think of what darkness was lurking in that con man's mind.

"So what now?" she asked.

Eko shifted in his chair, then stood. "For now, we wait, we plan, we try to find the others who crashed with us and see what they remember."

"Then we can solve this puzzle," Sawyer replied, standing himself. Ana stayed seated.

"I found Sayid," she replied, quietly. "He didn't seem to remember much. He knew my name, and he knew Sawyer's face, but I don't know if he remembers anything else or has been in contact with anyone else." She looked up and stared at both men. "Should I bring him here?"

"Here is as good a place as any," Eko replied. "The Others…They don't seem to like churches much in this world."

Ana nodded, and stood herself. "I have to get home."

And that's when Sawyer offered to walk with her, and she couldn't find it in herself to resist the company.

That had been a few hours ago, and she had not decided to walk immediately home. She took Sawyer the long way around, watching the sky turn from afternoon to evening and then to night, with stars flickering into existence like individual flashlights in the darkness.

She twisted her hands in anxiety, shivering against the sudden wind that rose, and Sawyer, noticing her anxiety, wrapped an arm securely around her shoulder. When she turned to him, a questioning look on her face, he refused to comment, just continued to walk beside her down the street in silence. She studied him for a second, but his features were shuttered and closed, unrevealingof the thoughts going on underneath. She looked away, and returned to studying the darkness intently, hoping that no bogeyman from childhood fears would jump out at her and snatch her into the deepened shadows.

Eventually, they made it to her street, and she took him down it, apprehension blosssoming in her stomach anew, and as they neared the building where she and Danni shared an apartment, her steps slowed to a near snail-pace.

"Hey, what's up?" Sawyer asked, tightening his arm around her and, with his free hand cupping her chin, turned her face to his. She averted her eyes.

"Look, I don't live alone," she told him gruffly, pulling out of his grasp and crossing her arms.

"You don't live alone?" Sawyer asked with a frown. He studied each apartment building intently, then turned to her with a wry grin. "Boyfriend, Ana Lulu?"

That's when she met his gaze. His brown eyes were staring at her intensely, like a blind man that was finally able to see. She shifted, swallowed and nodded.

"I came back to this time, this place and he's here," she began, trying to explain. "He's just...here."

"So, how deep is it?" Sawyer asked, his tone unreadable. Ana looked away again.

"I don't--I don't really know," she replied, feeling a tightness at the edge of her throat. Sawyer stepped closer, and Ana couldn't help but meet his heated gaze again as he towered above her, working his jaw and squaring his shoulders. He was so close she could literally feel the body heat radiating off of his skin like the heat of a bonfire. She could smell the cheap soap and cologne he used, and something else--sweat, and the underlying scent that was, quite simply, Sawyer. She breathed, wanting to map that scent in her memory and hold it there.

"He's...important to me," Ana continued, struggling to breathe as Swayer stepped closer. His eyes were like wildfires, and she could feel herself burn from the inside out.

"Is he really?" And in that tone Ana could hear the con man's sly grin, before he leaned down and kissed her.

888

"Where the hell have you been?"

Ana sighed, before closing the door and turning around. Danni stood in the middle of the living room, fuming. Ana looked away, placing her manila folders carefully on the room's table before turning slowly to face her boyfriend's wrath.

"Out," she answered simply, and tried to head to the bathroom to take a shower.

"Out!" Danni repeated loudly. "OUT! You were gone all day! I didn't know whether you were hurt or safe or anything and all you can tell me is that you were 'Out?' What the hell is going on with you, Ana?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she replied and stepped around him. He followed her.

"Why don't you try me," he replied sarcastically. "Why don't you fucking try me because I really, really want to know where your head is at. It certainly isn't here, and it certainly isn't on the baby."

She whirled on him, immediately angry. "Don't you dare--" she thrust a finger into his chest--"don't you dare tell me that I'm not thinking about my child, that I don't ever think about him. I think about him as much as I can without destroying my soul completely, and where the hell were you, huh? Where they hell were you! When I lost him, you just left, you just left me, and you never said good-bye, never said anything! I was alone and I was hurting and you left me because I was being selfish, I was caring too much about my lost baby and my job and myslef to look after poor little Danni who hadn't lost a piece of himself at all!"

He stared at her wide eyed as she huffed and puffed, adrenaline and anger and three yearsof memories finally piling up and spilling out. Where had he been exactly when she'd gone through what she had went through? Why did he just leave her when she needed him most? Those first few months--hell, those first few weeks, hours, minutes, seconds--had been hell, sheer torture to convince herself that it was worth it to get out of bed and go on with her day, and if she hadn't have found out who her child's killer had been then she would never had made it at all.

Where had he been when she was losing her mind,when her soul nearly fled, leaving her bereft and without any simplance of normalcy? She had needed him, wanted him, and at some point in those years of hell, she had been willing to find him, no matter that he had left her. She had been willing to try again, to open herself to him and try for a child again, to have the baby that was denied her. But Danni--that world's Danni--had left her. Had left her. Had.Left.Her. And now this world's Danni was deciding that it was his right to be different, to be kind and understanding, and she couldn't understand why he wasn't being an utter bastard. Why he wasn't storming out and leaving her alone? It would make everything so much easier certainly. She wouldn't have to worry about owing someone anything, but with him here...

"Ana, what are you--What are talking about? I'd never, never leave you." Danni moved to wrap her in his arms and, for a moment, she was willing to forget everything and accept that small comfort, accept that small amount of affection, but it was wrong, it was all wrong, and she couldn't let him. Wouldn't let him. Ana stepped away from him quickly, turned on her heel and said, steel lacing her voice, "I'm going to take a shower and then I'm going to bed."

"Ana?" Danni called, confusion evident in his tone. "Ana, wait. Please? We need to talk about this."

She stopped momentarily, breathed. "There's nothing to talk about." And continued onto the bathroom.

888

Author's Note: Thanks toall the lovely reviewers who took time out of their busy fic-surfing to read this fic. Thanks so much, and you can thank the wonderful lyrical talents of Nickelback and their song 'Savin Me' for this chapter. Soon to come: Chapter 9! Spoilers: SAYID!


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**IX.**

Danni was on the couch. She'd tried to take the couch, but he refused and instead she got the bed. Back in that other world, that other time and place, she probably would've gotten the couch anyway, just to piss him off. But here, in this place and time, he had insisted, and now she was standing in the doorway between the hallway and their bedroom watching him sleep.

It was early dawn; sunlight crept into the apartment in slants through cracks in the Venetian blinds, and played over the soft contours of Danni's face as he breathed evenly in and out. The troubles from last night were washed away, the worry lines, the puzzled frown and the bewildered expression. Gone. All gone. Ana sighed.

She wasn't being fair, she knew, not offering him an explanation for her whereabouts the other night, but she knew that even if she had tried to tell him, he would've called her mother, and her mother would've called Big Mike and between the three of them, she would've been fighting not to go back to St. Sebastian's to get a check-up from Henry Gale. She knew, eventually, that she would have to go back to that hospital, back to Gale and get some answers, but for now, she wanted—no, needed—to find the others that were on that island with her because she knew that Gale wouldn't relinquish his answers willingly, and she'd need all the help she could get.

'Speaking of help,' she thought and crept quietly back to the bedroom, retrieving her jeans from where she had tossed them on the floor last night. She dug around in her pockets until she found what she was looking for: Sayid's card, scuffed around the edges with the cheap ink of the words chipping off, but she could still read his number clearly.

She went to the phone beside the bed, picking it up slowly and dialing the numbers as silently as she could. She waited as there was a click and the phone started ringing on the other end. She waited a few moments, taping her foot, a tendril of something restless and worried twisted up her spine. When she'd met him yesterday, was Sayid really letting on what he really knew? Did he remember what had happened on that island? What she had did? Or was he really more confused and puzzled than she was?

She held her breath as someone picked up the phone.

"Hello?" It was a woman's voice, cautious and suspicion lacing that one word.

"Hello," she replied, her body tense. "Um, can I speak to Sayid-Sayid Jarrah?"

There was a pause, before the woman said slowly, "Yes, of course."

Ana released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The woman's voice came through the phone muffled, calling Sayid's name, brief words exchanged in a foreign tongue and then, "Ana Lucia, is this you?"

She couldn't breathe all over again.

"Yes," she managed tightly. There was a sigh of relief on the other end.

"I thought you would not call," he continued. "I had been…concerned."

"Concerned?" she managed, in puzzlement, and despite her apprehension asked, "What is it that you remember?"

Sayid's voice dropped to a whisper, "Little things. Some things are in sharper focus than others; other things are a confused blur. But we should not talk of these matters on the phone. Can I meet you somewhere?"

Ana's heart leap into her throat; she cleared it. Nodded, then realized Sayid could not see her nod, said, "Yes, of course. There's this café near the police precinct that you bumped into me yesterday. We could meet there." Ana was proud of herself, her voice did not crack.

"Yes, that is satisfactory," Sayid replied. "I will see you in one hour."

"See you then." Ana hung up the phone, breathed, and calmed her rapidly beating heart. She stood, turning to the doorway, and nearly called out in surprise.

"And just who is Sayid Jarrah?" Danni asked, anger clearly evident. Ana glared at him.

"You were listening in on my phone call?"

Danni didn't answer, just stepped into the room, with his arms crossed and a no nonsense air.

"Who is Sayid Jarrah?" he asked again.

"None of your business," she replied, crossing her arms as well. 

"You're not going anywhere until I get answers." He stepped forward even further. Ana's nerves, already stretched to their limits, grew tense as adrenaline surged through her blood stream.

"Move, Danni," she said icily.

"Not. Until. I. Get. Some. Answers," he repeated, punctuating each word. "I mean it this time. I understand that you were shot and I understand that the loss of a baby can make women do crazy things—"

"Women? Crazy?" she growled. "Crazy? You haven't seen nothing yet. Now move."

"Ana, just talk to me," Danni cried, frustrated. "I mean, you've changed, and I don't know how or why or when, but one minute, you're you, and then the next you're not! What's going on?"

"Didn't we have this discussion last night?"

"What discussion!" Danni shouted. "You told me 'There's nothing to talk about', remember?"

"Exactly," Ana replied calmly. "Nothing to talk about. So get out of my way. I have things to do."

"We'll see about that."

He advanced on her, to restraint her, grab her, Ana wasn't sure, all she knew was that one minute he was coming at her with his hands outstretched and then the next he was howling in pain as her palm connecting to his nose with a satisfying crunch.

"You broke my nose!" he shouted in shock and pain. "You-You-You broke—"

"You'll be alright," she replied, gathering her clothes and walking out of the bedroom. Part of her took a vicious satisfaction in causing Danni some pain; a little payback for what she couldn't inflict on that other Danni who really deserved a good kick in the groin. Another part of her was guilty because, in all honesty, she wasn't being fair to this world's Danni; he was only trying to help. But she pushed that guilt aside. Danni and she had been over three years into the future in that other time, and while this world was something she would've killed to have in that other time, it was all wrong now, and she couldn't keep lying to herself.

Ana went to the bathroom to take a shower and change.

888

"Are you alright?" Sayid asked as soon as she was within earshot of his table. "You look a little disheveled."

Ana shrugged, taking a seat. "Had a fight with the blow-dryer."

"Ah," Sayid replied. They fell into an awkward silence. The café was a bustling place, with waiters and waitresses, hosts and the café patrons who they were seating, smells of deliciously cooking food wafting from the kitchens and a myriad of conversations flying back and forth, but none of that cacophony of sounds or scents penetrated their bubble of uncomfortable silence.

"Alright," Ana said, shaking off the silence. "You go first. What do you remember?"

Sayid met her gaze slowly. Something dark flashed in the depths of his eyes before disappearing altogether. Ana swallowed as he began to speak.

"Not a lot," Sayid replied slowly. "Small things, a little about people. There was a man named…Hurley. Kind fellow. Building radios, a French woman, something about a Hatch, a man named Locke and a boy named W-Walt. The Crash, and a gunshot." He stared at her pointedly. "There was something you did, but it's hazy. A woman with blond hair and blood."

Ana swallowed again, swallowing her fear. She was not going to be afraid. She wasn't. There was too much at stake to be afraid.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice not cracking once. "I did something. I hurt someone. I hurt you."

That dark look returned to Sayid's eyes. Ana continued, refusing to blink or look away, "I shot a girl by accident. I shot her, and you—"

"Shannon," Sayid interrupted. "You shot Shannon." Ana nodded. He frowned. "But you…you didn't mean to…Accident…You were protecting people. Your people. Tail-enders." He breathed, looked away. "This is too much. One moment there's sand and an ocean, and the next I'm here and there's concrete and steel. Nothing makes sense anymore."

"Tell me about it," Ana replied, sympathizing. Sayid met her gaze again.

"Michael?"

Ana shrugged. "I don't know." 

Sayid nodded and looked away again, his expression pensive.

"Have you met anyone else? Aside from me?" she asked. He nodded again.

"Jack…and Kate," she replied shortly. "Kate's memories are even more blurry. She hardly remembered anything at all until Jack was able to jog her memory."

"How?" Ana asked, her voice coming out a little too sharp. Sayid glanced at her thoughtfully for a moment before answering, "Jack is…very persuasive when it comes to Kate."

"Huh," was all Ana said. Sayid sat up straighter, asked, "And you? That man from the picture—"

"Sawyer." Ana nodded. "Met him yesterday, and Eko."

Sayid's eyes widened considerably, and his hand ghosted his jaw from a moment before he let it drop.

"He was there," Sayid said slowly. "What was Shannon was…shot. He tackled me."

Ana grinned. "Yeah, he did."

Sayid smiled a ghost of a smile. "Indeed."

"They want to see you," Ana replied. "In fact, we should all see each other. Get together. Kate might know where Locke is and Hurley or something. If we find enough of us, we should be able to get some answers or figure something out."

"Or find the Others," Sayid said with a quiet menace. Ana's heart leapt into her throat and she swallowed thickly at the dark look that washed over Sayid's face.

"There is one," Ana said quietly. Sayid turned to her. His eyebrow rose.

"Who?"

"You know him," Ana replied, feeling her stomach tighten. Sayid nodded.

"Gale." It was a statement not a question and Ana could hear the anger behind his tone; it sent shivers up and down her spine. "Where?"

"You'll see," she replied, and swallowed again as Sayid glared, "when we gather up Kate and Jack and go see Sawyer and Eko."

Sayid didn't answer for second, then said, "Fine. We'll play it your way."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cell phone and stood up from the table. He went a little ways away as Ana sat back in her chair breathing deep and trying to un-tighten her stomach muscles.

"Ana – 1," she said under her breath. "Sayid – zip." He came back to the table, carrying the phone with him.

"They will meet with us," he replied. "Where?"

"St Christopher's Church," Ana told him, staring at the pone strangely. Kate and Jack were together. Her eyebrow rose slightly. Huh.

Sayid nodded and relayed the message into the phone, then he nodded and said good-bye. He turned to her.

"Two hours," he informed her. She nodded and stood.  
"C'mon," she said. "We can get going and meet them there. Besides, I want you to talk to Eko and Sawyer first."

Sayid nodded himself and stood with her. "Lead the way."

888

Author's Note: Here's the update! W00t! Enjoy! You'll FINALLY get answers in the next chapter. I swear! Really! Okay!


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**X.**

Sawyer walked Ana Lucia home.

The night was cool, and the sky empty save the stars that twinkled above them and the moon that covered everything in a surreal glow of white; Ana was quiet beside him, probably wrapped in her own thoughts, but he didn't much mind the silence. It reminded him of Georgia nights, and crickets singing to their companions, peaches with a dash of cream and lemonade. God, it was times like this he missed home and the simple comforts of the South.

They had expected, when Kate and Jack had arrived, that there would be some answers, some kind of reassurance that what they were thinking, feeling and remembering wasn't some half-crazy dream or nightmare or delusion dreamed up by mass hysteria. What they found were two people just as confused as the rest of them. It was, and Sawyer had to stifle his smirk because right now it was not appropriate and probably wouldn't be appreciated by his present company, one of the most ironic situations he could have ever found himself in. Back on the island, the Doc acted like he knew everything—everything about anyone, about life, about survival and war—but here, all his "island know how" didn't mean squat. Jack couldn't frown that pretty boy frown of his and make everything better. Nothing was better, everything was worse and no one knew where to go from here. So Eko adjourned the meeting making everyone to promise to meet back at the church at noon tomorrow.

Sawyer gave a mental snort. Meet back at the church and do what? Comb through the memories some more, try to piece together those disjointed images? And then what? Would those memories just show them what was going or would they just leave them further confused?

"Alright," Ana growled breaking into his thoughts. "Out with it. What're you thinking?"

Sawyer was not surprised in the least that she knew his silence was filled with thoughts. He had been told that she had been a cop before she'd landed on the island, and had seen that shrewd training in action earlier this evening.

Sawyer shrugged, answering, "What d'you thinks gonna happen at that meeting tomorrow, huh? We gonna sit around a circle, holding hands and singing "Cumbaya" until we get hit with a bolt of inspiration? There's nothing left for us to do. There's no answering we can get from each other. We're just a bunch of fools milling around with crazy memories of another life and nothing to do with them."

Ana shrugged. "We gotta keep trying, man. There's gotta be something that we're missing. Something that we haven't seen. We can't just give up."

"Maybe we should," Sawyer replied, even though he didn't believe the words for a minute. He was a con man, part of his job was finding everything out about a situation before manipulating it to his advantage. Ana shook her head in disbelief.

"You don't mean that," she said. "You don't mean that at all. You're frustrated. We're all frustrated, cowboy, but we can't give up on this. There's a reason we're here, and it could be good or bad. If it's good, we roll with it. If it's bad, we stop it."

Sawyer shook his head, stopped underneath an amber streetlight, looking both ways down the street. She stopped beside him, her eyes dark in the amber glow, but he could feel her gaze boring into him. He turned to her and glared.

"And how do we figure that out, huh? You, me, Osama, Freckles and the Doc don't know nothing about this place; there's nobody to ask, nobody to interrogate or question, and even if there were, they probably won't be easy to get to or catch. We don't know whether this pace is even real."

It was then that Ana stepped close to him, invading his personal space. He was taken aback for a second by her sudden movement, but when she wrapped a steady arm around his neck he relaxed. She tilted his head close to her's, smirked in the darkness and he could feel the heat of his breath ghosting across his lips.

"Then believe this, cowboy." And she kissed him hard. He melted into the kiss, and felt something alien twisting its way up from his chest, something he hadn't felt in a long time and never thought he would feel again. Sawyer grinned against her lips, and spoke, though his voice was muffled, "Why, Ana Lulu, I do believe you've taken a shinin' to me."

She pulled away from him, snorting in laughter. "C'mon, you big hick. Walk me the rest of the way home."

He grinned. "Maybe this time you'll let me in."

She glanced back at him as she started across the street. "Don't bet on it."

He smirked, but followed her, the feeling in his chest swelling like the tide. It was warm and strange, but it felt good. Really good.

He should've known the feeling wasn't going to last.

88

It happened as they were nearing her apartment complex, just passing through the gates and rounding the garbage bins. He and Ana had been talking, just light chit-chat, nothing as heavy and nearly depressing as the endless debate of why they were here, where was here and how they were going to get out. She was telling him about her work and he was listening intently, making mental notes, just as much as he was engrossed in her conversation, on what exactly he could do to avoid police officers in the future. He was still a Confidence Man after all.

He hadn't been paying attention, not really, and neither had she, so when the car pulled up, they had merely stepped to the side to let the driver pass. He didn't see the punch fly out from the darkness until it was too late and the fist connected soundly with his jaw.

He cursed, but another punch followed the first, then a kick and suddenly he was being rained upon from everywhere with punches kicks and what he was sure was a tire iron. He felt the hard metal crack against his skull, sending him precariously close to blacking out. He pulled himself from the edge, and ducking one punch, he fired one of his own. It connected, and the man fell back cursing and spitting blood. Sawyer smirked, wiped his chin and charged forward.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ana fighting her own assailant, two big men dressed in black, and neither seemed to be gaining the upper hand on little miss Rambina. Ana kicked one in the crotch, punched the other in the face. One went down with a howl of pain and the other was fazed.

Assured, Sawyer returned to his fight. Three big men, the fourth still out of commission trying to stifle the blood running between his fingers from a broken nose. The three men circled him warily like a pack of hyenas. He stared them all down with grim determination, his mind working to commit each face to memory. These men didn't wear mask, and Sawyer knew—in his experience—if a man didn't care that his face was seen during a crime, then he really didn't care about anything at all, and could commit murder just as easily as he could steal candy from a baby.

Sawyer breathed, balling his hands into tight fists, waiting for it, waiting for the men to strike. They still circled him, one of them grinning maliciously. Sawyer promised this guy mentally, I'm going to wipe that smirk off your face before this is over.

"Sawyer!" Ana cried, but before he could look, the men struck, all as one, surging forward. Sawyer was able to take one down, but was assaulted by the other two on his sides. The man with the tire iron raised it high. Sawyer looked out the corner of his eye at the last moment. His heart twisted. Ana went down, and was scooped up by one of the big men that had attacked her. Then the tire iron crashed onto his skull.

He hit the ground heavily as unconsciousness washed over him. He couldn't fight it. He heard one of the men speaking, vague, but he caught a name, a very familiar name, "Henry Gale." Before he was out cold.

88

Ana woke to the dull beep of a heart monitor and a throbbing ache assaulting her head. She groaned and tried to sit up, found that she couldn't. There were restraints on her ankles and wrists. She struggled against them to no avail. She was trapped.

She lifted her head slightly despite the pain and looked around. She was in a hospital. Again. But this one was different. Every thing was white, brilliant white, and incredibly clean. She smelled the sickening smell of disinfectant and bleach, and something else. Something that made her stomach roil and toss uneasily. Ana swallowed, feeling slight tendrils of fear trace their way up her spine.

The door to her room opened and Ana gasped, "Gale!" And fought her restraints with renewed vigor. The doctor shut the door and turned to her with the same saccharine smile he had worn when she had first seen him.

"Ana," he greeted simply and stepped into the room. He looked her struggling figure over before making a notation on the chart the he had brought with him. "You needn't struggle. I assure you, you won't be leaving anytime soon."

Ana stopped struggling, glared daggers at the man. "What do you want? And where's Sawyer?"

"The con man?" Gale's look was speculative. "Around." He smiled. "But I think you should be more worried about yourself, Ana Lucia." Gale looked his chart over again before going to her IV bag and checking the amount of fluids left. He noted it on her chart.

"What are you doing?" Ana asked suspiciously. Gale glanced at her, answered, "Just checking everything. We don't want any harm coming to you."

"Like hell you don't!" Ana growled. "Were those men with you? The ones who attacked us?"

Gale's look was speculative. "No, not with me, but they are employed with the hospital. They go out and take care of our more unruly patients."

"I'm not your patient," Ana snapped. Gale smirked.

"No, you weren't, but then we received a disturbing call earlier," he replied, feigning concern. "A man named Danni Rodriguez called concerning his fiancée. Claimed she had had a psychotic break, injured him, breaking his nose. Talking to strange people he'd never met. That's when the staff paged me, and I sent those men to find you."

"And attack me." It was a statement not a question. Ana couldn't tell whether Gale's surprise was fake or not.

"They had to restrain you," he replied. "You were being difficult, and your, ah, friend was a very dangerous man. When I told that to Mr. Rodriguez, he wanted that man dealt with. Now," Gale looked over the chart again, "I'll allow, Mr. Rodriguez into to see you, and your mother. After that, no more visitors. We have tests to run."

"What did you do to Sawyer! What tests! What are you going to do!" Ana shouted, suddenly enraged. What was going? What happened to Sawyer? Where was he? Gale had better not have had him harmed. Gale's look was roundabout; he shrugged, smiled.

"You'll see." Then he turned and left Ana with a growing sense of dread in her curling through her system.

88

He woke with one massive headache.

Early morning sunlight splashed on his face with a cheeriness Sawyer could have done without. He sat up stiffly as his back protested and his arms screamed in pain. He groaned, and tried to move. Couldn't. He snapped awake quickly, as the nights' events rushed back to him full-tilt. Ana! Ana Lucia, where was she! Sawyer looked about, but what he saw stopped him cold.

Police station. He was in a…

"Oh crap."

How did he get here? What the hell happened? One minute he's with Ana, the next their being attacked and now…

"Damn."

"Finally caught you," came the snide voice. Sawyer looked up and was face-to-face with a young officer in full uniform. His hair was cut short and would've thought his eyes a bright blue if it weren't for the fact that the man was scowling. Sawyer smirked.

"You won't be smirking when we put you in jail, Mr. Ford," the man said. "Your days were numbered, and now their finally over."

Sawyer's smirk widened. "C'mon, that the best you can do, Blueboy?"

The man drew close to Sawyer as he sucked in a hissing breath. "You watch your m—"

"Officer Raggs, don't you have some paperwork to attend to?"

The man looked back as a woman with a commanding air stepped forward from an inner office and approached. She was wearing a scowl on her face that looked vaguely familiar to Sawyer, like he seen that expression plastered on a much younger face. He mental shook those thoughts away. Naw, couldn't be…

"I wasn't doing anything, Captain Cortez," the man—Raggs—said defensively. He gestured vaguely at Sawyer as the con man's jaw dropped. No way. No WAY. Was he really seeing…  
Ana's mom was a cop too!

"This guy was just mouthing off," Raggs was saying as Sawyer's jaw snapped shut. The woman looked him over, and the glare she gave him was too reminiscent of Ana Lucia to be coincidence.

"Whether he was smart mouthing you or not, officer," she snapped briskly, "does not mean you don't have work to handle. Now, get to it."

Raggs glared at him one last time, and Sawyer couldn't help but shoot him a cheeky grin before he walked angrily away. Then he turned back to Captain Cortez and her no-nonsense glare. His grin dropped as she turned away from him momentarily and motion for two big men—Sawyer assumed they were cops as well—to grab Sawyer. They did, one unlocking his cuffs so that he could stand before locking them again around his wrists, and then the two hooked their arms around his shoulders and hauled him bodily into the Captain's office. She followed, her glare still in place.

The two men sat him forcefully down into a chair opposite her as she took a seat behind her desk, and then the two men posted themselves at outside her door. He turned her, but she didn't speak, just glared at him. Sawyer was unnerved. What did she want?

Finally, she spoke," You were with my daughter." It was a statement, not a question, but Sawyer nodded anyway. The older woman was quiet for a moment more. Sawyer fidgeted slightly.

"Why were you with her?" the woman asked. Sawyer looked away.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, lady."

"My daughter has been acting strangely since she had been shot, Mr. Ford," Cortez said firmly. Sawyer looked up with a start. "And there are many factors that contribute to her behavior, but I also know your reputation, and I've seen your file. What are doing with her? Why were with her?"

Shot. She had been shot. Sawyer's mind was reeling with this new information. Ana Lucia. Shot. Here? In this world? How? When? Where? He looked up and met her mother's gaze squarely.

"Where is she now?" Sawyer asked, challenge in his voice. He needed to find her, to know that she was all right. Obviously, her mother knew where she was, but wasn't going to tell him. Her glare intensified.

"Somewhere away from you," the woman answered icily. "Now, answer my questions."

Sawyer kept his mouth shut. Like he'd said before, the woman probably wouldn't believe him even if he told her the long complicated truth. He wasn't even sure about the truth himself, or what hat truth could mean. All he knew was that he needed to get to Ana Lucia, be near here, and if this woman was going to be withholding information, so would he.

Captain Cortez stared at him, and he stared back. Finally, she stood, went to her door and opened it, speaking quietly to the men outside. Sawyer glanced back as the two burly fellows came into the office, groaned when the hauled him from the chair and dragged him outside. Ana Lucia's mother shook her head, said, "Maybe a night in jail will loosen your tongue."

"Not likely," Sawyer retorted as the men hauled him off. He was dragged roughly through the station, many police officers fixing him with cold stares. When passed by Raggs' desk and the man smirked at him, Sawyer blew the man a kiss and a wink. The officer sputtered indignantly, and Sawyer felt a wash of satisfaction. It was short-lived as one of the officer's twisted his arm and he was dragged towards a long, concrete hallway, and beyond it, the holding cells.

"Ah damn," Sawyer muttered, and looked around in a last ditched effort for an escape. He didn't see anyway out, but what he did see shocked the hell out of him.

"BOONE!"

The man in question whirled in surprise. His eyes widened. "Sawyer! Wait!" Boone rushed forward as Sawyer struggled. The men holding him held fast.

"Wait!" Boone shouted. "I don't understand! Sawyer! What's happening! Where're they taking you?"

"You want answers!" Sawyer shouted. Boone nodded imperceptively. "Then get me the HELL OUT OF HERE!" The men grunted, dragging him kicking and fighting down the hallway.

88

"How the hell did you manage it?" 

Boone grinned, his brown eyes twinkling as Sawyer stepped out into the cool air of a Los Angeles night as a breeze washed over him. He savored it, swearing on anything and everything holy that he was never going to get himself caught again.

"Paid your bond," Boone replied simply and started down the street towards the precinct police department's parking lot. Sawyer followed him, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had chafed his skin.

"That was a pretty hefty bond," Sawyer replied, his eyes looking over the young man's face as Boone grinned again and led the con man to his car. Sawyer was still in shock. Boone was dead, or at least he was supposed to be dead. He had been crushed under the weight of a plane on the island. Sawyer had been there when they'd buried him. How in the hell was this kid here, in this world, alive and breathing and…not dead? Just…not dead.

Boone caught Sawyer's look, and immediately understanding, shrugged. "I know, I know. I should be…" His voice trailed off as a scowl lit his features, then the scowl went away just as quickly. "But I'm not. One minute, I feel the blood leaving me and then…I wake up, breathing." He smiled. "It's awesome to not be six feet under."

Sawyer almost smiled himself, didn't, but he was…in a way…glad the spoiled, rich boy was a live. And speaking of rich…

"How the hell did you pay my bond?" Sawyer asked as Boone went to his car, the newest Jaguar model, and unlocked the doors. Boone met his gaze steadily.

"I just paid for it, okay?" Boone replied. "Get in."

Sawyer scowled before nodding and getting in the car. Boone revved the engine and, shifting gears quickly, tore out of the parking lot.

"How much do you remember?" Sawyer asked after a moment. Boone glanced at him, shrugged.

"Not a lot about the island really," he replied. "Enough though. Enough to know I died. Enough to know it hurt like hell. Enough to know that when I woke up here I got myself drunk off my ass until I couldn't see straight for a week."

Sawyer nodded, even though he couldn't understand. He had been in near miss situations, where any wrong thing could have gotten him killed, but to actually die…

"You're handling it well," Sawyer said. Boone grinned at him. They fell silent as Boone drove them through the streets of LA.

He asked, "What about…What about Shannon?"

Boone sighed. "She's in New York. After…After…she told me she had been shot, killed. When she…She took off for New York some time ago. Said she didn't want to be caught up in anymore drama. Said she wanted to go after her second chance. So she hightailed it to the Big Apple. I wished her well."

"Huh." Was all Sawyer said. He thought for a moment, paused. Then said, "Second chance?"

Boone glanced at him, his look unreadable, but Sawyer knew something was up. The same instinct that helped him perform successful con after successful con was screaming at him now. He asked slowly, "What do you know? About this place? About everything?"

Boone looked away, focused on the road. "Not a lot." He smirked. "But I know something." He pulled off on a side road and kept going. "Second chances. Fate. Destiny. There's something about this place. I've been…de-dead long enough in this world to know that something's up." Boone paused, took a deep breath. Said, "When we were on the island, we always felt like something was watching us. Or someone. Like we were under a microscope. Shannon could feel it too, but she didn't want to be bothered. I stayed here. It's like, this place is where it begins."

"It?" Sawyer asked, his heart beating in his chest. Boone glanced at him.

He struggled. "I dunno. Just an 'It'. An energy almost. It feels like I'm in a bubble. Like this place isn't real outside of the bubble, but as long as you stay here, you can believe in a lie."

"A lie?"

Boone nodded slowly. "John could explain it better than me."

"John? John Locke?" Sawyer's eyes widened. Boone nodded again.

"Yeah, John's here too," he replied slowly. "He's…He's here. I'm taking us to him now."

Sawyer fell silent, his thoughts a confused jumble. Alright, so Eko was here, and Kate and Jack, Ana Lucia and Sayid, Boone and now Locke. Sawyer wondered, if they kept looking would they find the whole flight of people lost on that island? And if they did, would everyone's memories somehow give them keys to what the hell was going on? Maybe Ana had been right. If they pieced together everyone's memories, maybe everything would make sense.

He felt his stomach clench. God, he had to find that woman. If he didn't…

If her mother was keeping her from him…

Sawyer gritted his teeth angrily.

"We're here," Boone said simply, cutting off the car and getting out. Sawyer got out with him and looked around. It was a nice neighborhood, neat little, manicured lawns laid out in neat, little rows side-by-side. The house that they had parked in front of was a one-story bungalow with a few exotic, potted plants underneath the windows.  
"My house," Boone said by way of explanation. Sawyer said nothing and followed him inside. The inside of the house was nice, comfortable and clearly owned by a bachelor. Sawyer looked around, glancing down a hallway. There was only one bedroom at the end of it. His eyebrow rose and he glanced at Boone as the young man called, "John! John, come out here a minute."

And speak of the devil, the man came walking out of the kitchen with a familiarity that made Sawyer's other eyebrow join the first and the two rise to his hairline.

"Sawyer?" John Locke said in surprise. Sawyer stuck out his hand.

"Mr. Clean," the con man said by way of greeting. Locke's lips quirked slightly in amusement. He turned to Boone, said, "So, I'm guessing we have to get ready for a long, drawn out discussion, huh?"

"I guessing that would be helpful," Boone replied, meeting Locke's eyes. Sawyer nearly did a double take. No. No way. His eyes nearly widened when he saw something passing through Boone's eyes that he'd seen a number of times when he charmed many a-woman into believing in his schemes. Sawyer glanced at Locke, the same expression was dancing in his eyes. He wanted to shake his head in disbelief; this night was just getting stranger and stranger.

Finally, Locke tore his eyes away from Boone, looked at Sawyer and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Sawyer wisely kept his mouth shut and said instead, "Maybe we should take this to the St. Christopher's downtown. I have a priest who'd been dying to meet you."

Locke looked surprised. "Eko? Eko's here?"

Sawyer nodded.

"That guy, on the island, who came after I had…That guy you told me about?" Boone asked, curiously. Locke nodded, hurried off. When he came back, he was carrying to coats. One for Boone and the other for himself. Sawyer didn't want to think about why Boone and Locke were sharing closet space, he didn't. He just wanted to get back to the Church, talk to Eko, tell him about Ana Lucia and her mother and what happened.

His stomach grew queasy. God, he hoped nothing had happened to her. 

"Alright," Boone was saying. "Let's go."

888

Author's Note: After a long and drawn out process, this baby was born, and while it doesn't provide much in the way of answers, it forms the basis of answers that I'll be slowly revealing. BWAHA!

Okay, now onto the apologies. SORRY EVERYBODY! I got back from orientation, and then I realized, "Holy Lostzilla and Polar Bears, Batman! My muse has deserted me!" Apparently, my muse thought it was funny to change my song of inspiration for the piece and then not tell me which new song she changed it to. So then I had to comb through my computer trying to find it, and then all my CDs and some obscure tapes that I didn't remember I owned until FINALLY I discovered it: Aqualung's "Strange & Beautiful". Whew! So, this is a product of listening to that song and staring at Windows Media Player's Alchemy: Random screen thingie GAWD the COLORS!dies

Ahem...so, I apologize and am working on the other chapters of this baby as we speak. Adieu, and **THANX FOR THE REVIEWS!**

PS: To all you Locke and/or Boone lovers, sorry for the implied...impliedness...Consequently, I had a friend read this over for me and as she is a conneiseur of...well...slash, she told me she would refuse me any cookies until I gave her...something. waves cookie So, I got my cookie and she got her fun, and if you feel slight disturbed, blame her points-- 


	11. Chapter 11

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings: **Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer: **If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

888

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: Adrift

**XI.**

When Sawyer had called the meeting, Sayid had been engaged in a heated conversation with Nadia, a conversation that they had had many times before, one riddled with questions he could provide no answers to and tears of frustration on Nadia's part because she could not understand him and felt that he was not allowing her to. It was not that he would not let her into his world, it was that he could not. He could not understand this world himself, this strange, confusing world with confusing memories of another life in which he had been still searching for Nadia, a life that had been interrupted with the crashing of a plane on a mysterious island. A life of survival and death and fear. A life that still woke him on some nights with terrible memories of strange, invisible island beasts and strange hatches built for even stranger purposes.

He could not tell her about this world. He could not tell her about the life he had lived, or whether or not that life had actually been a real one or just...

Just his imagination.

And so when Sawyer called, it had been with a sigh of relief that Sayid had interrupted his and Nadia's conversation--_argument_, really--telling her that he could not stay, that he had urgnt business to attend to and that they could continue this _conversation_ when he returned.

"Are you going to see that woman?" Nadia had asked sharply, pain evident in her voice. Sayid had paused, glancing back at her, not answering. She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her throat. She waved her hand at the door, the bitterness of her laugh reaching her eyes.

"Well," she said, her voice angry. "Go on. Go to that woman. Go to her. She obviously gives you more than I can offer."

Sayid felt his heart clench at the look she gave him. She was his friend, his dearest and most cherished friend, and he did not mean to hurt her. Her look--one of sadness mingled with helplessness and regret-- made Sayid want to reach out and pull her close, wrap Nadia in a tight embrace, an embrace that would assure her that he still cared for her, that she still meant the world to him; one that told her that, if he had to, he would spend another seven years looking for her. But he didn't. He didn't touch her, only paused, opening his mouth to say something--_anything_--but only saying a hastey "good-bye" before heading out and leaving her behind.

He could not explain to her what was in his head, he could not make her understand that this world, this place with its almost paradisical feel was just...wrong. He had serached for her, had done unspeakable acts, had betrayed friends and destroyed lives, just to get answers on her whereabouts, for even the slightest scrap of information on her health and safety, only to wake up and have her here with him. Everything he had done, everything he had gone through, all wiped clean save the haunting memories that would not leave him alone and let him live in peace. These memories, these nightmares, told him it was all wrong; that this world was alien and strange and just...not right.

He'd always had purpose in his life. Since as far back as he could remember, even as a child he would refuse to do things unless there was a reason behind it. There had to be purpose, there had to be a goal. There had to be a plan, there had to exist a type of order and structure. But since waking in this world with two very confusing and two very different sets of memories dangling in his mind, there had been no purpose, no clear, set path to follow. On the island, there had been the need to survive, to figure out the threat of the Others and possibly getting off that strange rock and finding rescue. But here, in this world, those old survival instincts weren't necessary.

In this world, he had found his Nadia, he was with her, and with this realization, he should have _felt_ peace. But there was no peace for him with these dreams and nightmares and visions of another life and another place and another time twisting his thoughts into disarray. Not when he woke up in a cold sweat thinking there were dark whispers swirling about his head and dark shadows streaming from the wood works to capture him and take him to hell. Nadia could not understand, his friends could not understand. No one could.

But then...

He had run into Ana Lucia, and he knew then that there was someone in this world aside from him, stumbling around in a blind daze like a seeing man caught in a world of darkness.

He remembered vaguely what had happened in that other world and that other time; he remembered the blood and the island whispers and the sound of a single gunshot resounding above the heavy noise of rain and screams and panick. He remembered holding Shannon in his arms as her body shivered and spasmed, clutching futilely to a life that was already fading, and fading fast. He remembered feeling as if his soul had died then, feeling his heart break and his body go numb as Shannon shuddered her last breath and her body went still. He remembered the lost and keening cry that had tore from his throat as sorrow over took him, and he had met the eyes of her killer dead on.

Ana Lucia.

And here was Sawyer calling a meeting without that young woman by his side.

Sayid stepped out into the cool air of a Los Angeles night, starting towards his car with a slight frown creasing his brow. Why had Sawyer called the meeting and not Ana Lucia? Where was she? He was not used to the con man yet. He wasn't really used to any of these new surprises that his life was throwing at him, but when he had found Ana Lucia--or rather when Fate had decided to take pity on him and let them find each other--he had found a type of stability to the chaos that had become his life, a rock on which the confusion that had become his existence could not shake.

A sudden wash of anxiety rushed through him as Sayid pulled open the door to his car and got in. Was there something wrong? Had something happened? A sick twist of dread turned his stomach into tight knots as he shut the car door and turned the automobile on. He gunned the engine and drove quickly out of his neighborhood.

Sayid tried to calm the sudden rapid beating of his heart as he tried to remember the way to St. Christopher's.

The hours were rolling down to late evening with a pale, crescent moon haning in the sky and a few, stubborn stars competing with the bright city lights of Los Angeles. Traffic was winding down, for which Sayid was grateful. There was nothing much to impede his trip.

The anxiety that he had tried in vain to keep bottled up was steadily spilling over, infecting his system with nervous dread as he traveled the dark streets.

Why had Sawyer called the meeting? What was going on? And, most importantly, where was Ana Lucia?

Concern for the young woman twisted through his system with as much purpose as the anxiety, and Sayid was surprised by the vehemence of it. Wasn't it, just a few short weeks ago--months? years?--that she had held the gun and pulled the trigger that had ended the life of Shannon Rutherford, the woman he had fallen-in-love with on the island? Why should he feel anything for this woman, other than disdain and anger? Where were those emotions now? Why were they not filling him with a murderous rage to harm her and destroy her much as she had destroyed him on the island?

_"What good would it be to kill you, if we're both already dead?"_

He had uttered those words, uttered them with a soul that had withered in his body and a heart that had turned as cold as stone. He had felt, at that moment, nothing but helplessness and anger and regret and anguish, had looked Ana Lucia in the eyes, passed judgment and dismissed her as unworthy to die by his hand. What good _would_ it had done after all? It would not have brought Shannon back, it would not have righted the wrongs in his life or undone his evil deeds.

And then she had come to him, humbled and sincere, had come to him and said...Sorry.

Sorry?

A small peace offering of words. She had bore her soul to him, had shown him a vulnerability that he was sure not even Jack had seen and he had forgiven her. The weight of helplessness and despair had not lifted--and even now, he could still feel it at the edges of his conscious, ready to pounce--but the burden of bearing it had eased. Even then he had known that he had found a kindred spirit, someone whose demons were nearly as vicious and dark as his own.

Perhaps that was why he was concerned. Perhaps, out of all the castaways they had found, she was the only one who had crossed through a hell much similar to his, and that if she was gone--if something had happened--that he would be truely alone. So much more alone than he had ever been on the island.

Anxiety twisted in his gut again, and Sayid forcefully pushed it away.

Nothing had happened; nothing had happened. 

Nothing.

Nothing.

**Nothing. **

There was a logical reason to why Sawyer had called the meeting. Perhaps there was something that he knew or found out that not even Ana Lucia herself knew and that when Sayid walked through the cellar doors of St. Christopher's, he would find her seated next to Mr. Eko's desk, waiting impatiently for everyone to arrive.

Sayid let that thought soothe him, let it wash through him and sate his jangled nerves. Nothing was wrong. Nothing had happened. There was a logical reason...

There was a logical reason...

He pulled into the church parking lot and got out of his car quickly. Shutting the door of his car, he regarded the church quietly for a moment, felt his heart leap, and stepped swiftly for the church doors. They opened, and as Sayid stepped through the threshold he was met with the heavy scent of incense and the haunting sounds of the church choir practicing their hymns. He turned down an aisle, unimpeded by one of the church fathers. The older man just nodded at him, smiled and moved out of his way. Sayid muttered a "thank you" and kept going.

He headed towards Eko's office at a mad dash, walking swiftly down the stairs, through the dank hallway and towards Eko's office doors. He waited outside of them, breathed deep and placed his hands on the wood.

'Don't be silly, Sayid,' he thought to himself, chastising, 'of course she is here. Why wouldn't she be?'

He squared his shoulders and pushed the door opened. 

The first thing he registered was the solemn air that hung about the room. He swallowed, his eyes sweeping over the room's occupants as his anxiety from ealier returned with a vengeance. He barely registered the shock of Boone or Locke. only frowned, eyes sweeping the room once more in disbelief.

"Sayid." It was Jack. It was Jack calling his name, but his mind could barely register the doctor's voice.

"Sayid." Now, Mr. Eko, but Sayid shook his head, still looking, not believing his eyes, blaming the dimness of the light, the crowdedness of the room. Anything except what he was not seeing. He had to be missing something...

"Sayid."

He shuddered, turned to Jack whose gaze was knowing, but stricken as well. Jack knew who he was searching for; he did not know how the man knew, but the doctor knew.

"She's not here."

It was then that a sick feeling of foreboding twisted in Sayid's gut.

_Where was Ana Lucia?_

888

Author's Note: Sorry for the loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong overdue update, everybodies, but this one was particularly **hard** to write, and I mean, REALLY hard. That and a whole bunch of other crap came up these weeks, but mostly just writer's block, so I'm not really sure whether or not this one is really a **good** addition or a **bad** one. Sayid is one nasty bugger to write about. My brain is pouring out my _ears_! And I had to try to make sense of this guys problems -- which could fill a textbook BTW-- ugh. So, tell me what you think. And be honest!

And thanks to all the lovely reviewers out there, you know who you are, because without you I'd be sorely pressed to drop my major in English; and the fantatistic people who are just skimming over the story...You're still reading and that still makes a girl happy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** Fall Into The Light

**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost

**Rating: **PG-13

**Pairing:** Current: Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Eventual: Ana Lucia/Sayid, implied Jack/Kate hacks up hairball, implied Boone/Locke

**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago

**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**XII.**

"She's not here."

Sawyer stood as Sayid regarded him slowly and with a measured gaze; the con man met that gaze head on.

"Then where is she?" Sayid asked coolly. Sawyer crossed his arms and glanced at Eko and the priest stood, going to Sayid and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"That is why this meeting was called," Eko replied in a steady voice that rumbled from deep within his chest. Sayid looked between the two men as Jack stood from his place beside Kate and approached him as well, and said, "How about we take a seat? We can get this meeting underway."

Sayid nodded, staring hard at the doctor before going to an empty seat next to Boone and Locke, and sitting down. Jack returned to Kate's side as she shot him a concerned look, and Eko returned to his desk, but Sawyer remained standing and glared at all of them, daring anyone to challenge him or speak before he was through explaining.

Sawyer sighed and shook out his shoulders, his thoughts on the feisty Rambina and what could possibly be happening to her right now. He felt a queasy twist of something turning his stomach into knots and send tendrils of a nameless emotion that kind of felt like fear up and down his spine. But he wasn't going to admit that he was afraid, to do that was to put Ana's life in jeopardy, and he couldn't risk it.

"Ana's been kidnapped." There he said it, but his heart didn't want to believe it. He continued on before anyone else could interrupt. "It happened yesterday, right after we left here. I was walking her home, when we were attacked without warning. They took her and knocked me out, and when I came to I was in the LA police department—" and met Rambina's mother. But he didn't say that last part out loud, just squashed the momentary swell of bitter and inappropriate humor, and continued, "Before they knocked me out though, I hear a name. One I think everyone here is familiar with."

"Who?" Kate asked sharply, and Sawyer's smirk was sardonic when answered, "Henry Gale."

There was a stunned silence before Boone piped up, asking, "Who's Gale? Was he one of the Tail section survivors?" The young man turned to Locke in puzzlement, but the other man was frowning. He fixed Sawyer with an intense gaze.

"I remember him," he said slowly. "He was one of Them, the Others. We had him in the Hatch."

"I work with him," Jack said in awe. Everyone turned to the doctor.

"What?" Sayid asked, his voice a mixture of shock and sudden anger. Jack stared at all of them, his look one of stunned surprise as if he himself were surprised at this knowledge himself. He nodded slowly.

"It didn't register at our first meeting," Jack replied quietly. Kate lightly touched his shoulder and Jack glanced at her when she smiled and nodded for him to go on. He nodded himself and continued. "It didn't register with me when we first mentioned him. Not much. I mean, there's scraps of memory but not a lot as we're all probably suffering from, but now…."Jack paused. Breathed. "I work with him. He's head of the Neurology Department at St. Sebastian's. I w-work with him."

"Head of Neurology?" Boone spoke up suddenly. "Why—" He shook his head. "I don't really know anything about these Others or Ana Lucia, but, I mean, d'you think that's where she could be? At the hospital?"

"She could be anywhere," Eko said, speculatively.

"Yeah, anywhere," Sawyer said vaguely with a deep frown. His thoughts returned to earlier that day and the meeting with her mother. She had been pretty adamant about not revealing the location of where Ana Lucia was. What was it that she had said?

"Somewhere away from you."

Sawyer's frown deepened. That had to mean that Ana was somewhere nearby, somewhere where her mother'd feared that Sawyer could easily find. If Ana had been sent somewhere far away, far enough away for Sawyer to not be able to reach, then she would not have hesitated to inform him of that and where, and possibly rub that knowledge in his face.

Sayid watched him. "What do you know?" the Iraqi asked, snapping Sawyer out of his thoughts. He glanced at Sayid, and the man's expression was unreadable, but Sawyer smirked anyway. He turned to Jack, asked, "How many security guards d'you think are on watch tonight?"

888

Her eyes opened to the sound of voices, voices quietly murmuring beyond her prone figure as an IV unit dripped sedatives into her blood stream and a monitor bleeped with every beat of her heart. Ana struggled to reach for consciousness and wakefulness.

She recognized the voices. Her mother and Danni.

And Henry Gale. 

A shiver rushed through her.

"How's she doing, doctor?" Her mother asked with concern.

Ana heard Gale sigh. "It's too soon to tell, Mrs. Cortez. I had misjudged her level of…shock and trauma."

"So, this is really just about the baby?" came Danni's voice, and Ana wanted to scream that it was not about the baby, it was about this world and this time and these people and Gale and that not everything was as it seemed, but she couldn't speak, could barely open her eyes and when she did, the world was a dim blur of subdued colors and light.

The conversation continued without her.

"How long?" Ana's mother asked. Gale sighed again with that faux concern.

"Once again, too soon to tell," he replied. "We'll have to…keep her over night. To run more tests, to see where her head is at. Maybe an MRI, test her blood—"

"Test her blood?" Ana's mother asked with some alarm.

"Women in Ana's condition have been known to experiment with ways of dealing with pain."

"Drugs!" Ana heard Danni say loudly, and she wanted to protest the just as loudly as he had. Even before, in that old world, she had never considered the possibility of drugs to ease her sorrow.

"You're saying she's been doing drugs?" Danni continued in disbelief.

"It's not uncommon," Gale replied evenly.

"Ana would never do that," Mrs. Cortez said defensively, and Ana had to applaud her mother to sticking up for her. "She's my daughter, and I would know."

"And yet," Gale said with a speculative tone in his voice, "she was with a known criminal whose record is quite thick with numerous crimes."

"But drugs?" Mrs. Cortez replied with disbelief. "Not my Ana. Not her."

"Well, I think with the tests, we will be sure," he stated matter-of-factly. "More than sure."

"Alright," Ana's mother conceded with some reluctance. "If you think so."

"Good," Gale replied, and the tone he used sent tendrils and tendrils of fear curling through Ana's system. She fought the sedatives as much as she could, but the fog over mind was not lifted. Her limps felt even heavier and her thoughts started to scatter underneath a heavy blanket of sleep that was starting to cover her mind.

No no no no no no no no no noooo! She screamed in her mind as frustrated welled and ebbed, stopped before it could fester by the sedatives in her system. She wanted to fight, she wanted to wake up, but soon she was falling, falling back into darkness, back into unconsciousness as the door to her room opened and Henry Gale stepped inside with a gleam in his eyes.

8888


	13. Chapter 13

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. ITotally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**XIII.**

White room.

Pale, pale florescence and the smell of linoleum and pine sol.

Sickening smell of lemons and disinfectant.

She couldn't move, couldn't shift, couldn't see. All was quaking noise in her head, the sound and fury of moving bodies in white lab coats and men's voices, muted like something thick were covering her ears, but still sounding like quaking thunder, with distorted words. She couldn't understand, and tried to grasp for their words, tried to grasp for meaning, but meaning was fleeting and her head hurt and her arms hurt and her eyes because the lights burned.

Hospital smells wafted up her nose and filled her lungs; she was afraid, with an almost child-like fear, that her breath would transform from oxygen into the barely pronounceable names of chemicals and acids and liquids that killed germs and bacteria and gave off that horrid sterile smell, burning her insides up until all that was left was a pile of mushy-Ana-goo.

But that was impossible. Im-poss-Im-poss-i-ble.

Words were becoming harder to find, but funnier to say, and her might felt groggy and misshapen and weird.

Henry Gale came into her line of sight as Ana squinted, grinned a lopsided grin and said in a voice that sounded faraway, but mechanical: "I don't like you, you know that? You're an honest to God son of a bitch."

She thought it was uproariously funny, but Gale didn't laugh. Spoiled sport.

Her head lolled to the side and she glared at the one of the other men that was with Gale as the man held up a syringe, flicking it, getting rid of any air bubbles. She tried to focus her gaze on the thin, little piece of metal, but she couldn't, and when the man ducked, jabbing her arm unkindly, she couldn't summon the energy to even follow his movements or yelp in pain.

Her consciousness swam, her eyes strayed around the hospital room, squinting again at the overly bright lights and the light reflected off of the white, white walls.

"This is bullshit," came her mechanical voice, and Ana would've laughed, but her thoughts were trying to gather, she was trying to make a point and she could not spare any more brain power on laughter. She frowned, tried to sit up, found that she couldn't, sat back and tried to focus her eyes to glare at Gale, who had suddenly started to shift and wriggle as if his whole body were made of worms. "Look, man, this is some…some…some serious-serious bullshit. Wh-what-what do y-you want-want from me, man? I ain't got – I mean – I ain't got nothing for you, man. M'just a cop, man. Just, you know, just…Jesus, what'd you give me, huh?"

She still couldn't focus on Gale, and he still wasn't listening. His companions had stayed silent too, steadily working as Ana rattled off, not listening to her deranged, drug-induced speech nor caring. She would've mustered up indignation, but really, what good was that when you couldn't form a coherent sentence? She shut her mouth and tried to get her neck to hold up her head instead of letting it loll to one side.

And finally, at that moment, Gale turned to look at her. Looked at her hard, and if Ana had been in her right mind, maybe the look he was giving her would have scared her to her very bones because nothing good or kind or gentle or even remotely reassuring was in that look. It was cold, calculating and cruel, the type of look a scientist gives a new specimen that they were about to test on, wondering which organ should they cut out first.

She would've been afraid, but the medicine was working its magick and the men were leaving her alone with Gale as he drew on a pair of latex gloves (she couldn't figure out where those gloves or that tray of nasty looking surgical equipment had come from), and Ana discovered at that moment that she just couldn't care, just really didn't have a care in the world.

Michael Dawson sat in a comfortable hospital chair, the plush of the seat rising around his hips and engulfing half his body in layers of cotton and fabric, or whatever the hell hospitals used to make their chairs, and he really should have felt comfort from them, should have sat back with a half-sigh, eyelids half way closed, but –

A sharp spike of pain cut through any observations on comfort or chairs or why he should give a rat's ass why he should be enjoying it right now. He'd almost forgot what this felt like, almost forgot the waves of agony that rushed through him as one spike of pain ebbed and the other crashed into him, like some massive wave of throbbing, unrelenting ache. He'd almost forgotten completely what this was like to be immobilized, clutching his right leg and then his left, neither one yielding to his scattered thoughts, hissing breath, sweaty brow.

"God," he hissed, and wondered whether or not that deity was even listening. "God, God, God, God, God…"

He was hunched over in his chair, the nurse across from him looking on in pity, as she answered a phone, "St. Sebastian's Hospital, how may I direct your call?"

He ignored her, tried to find anything in his mind, scrambling to pick of the scattered pieces of his thoughts, and focus on something else – anything – but the pain.

Walt. Focus on Walt. His boy was turning nine. His boy was turning nine, and had called him a few days again, breathless on the phone. His boy was turning nine, breathless, and said to him, "Dad, she's here."

She's here.

"Who's here, Walt?" he asked, but…didn't he already know? Hadn't he known? The memories had come rushing back to him one day while he was trying to find work. Just walking down the street, minding his own business, walking with a limp, trying to navigate with his cane, mind not yet wrapped in the neutrality of recently popped painkillers. He'd just been walking, and then…

Then…

The island. And screams. A plane crash. Polar bears. Fights with Jin. Sun speaking English. A raft. The Others. And Walt. Walt being taken.

Disjointed images that made no sense and left him bowed over in the middle of the sidewalk, gasping, a scream wanting to tear out of his throat as pain seized his leg, cramping, and him not being able to pop a pill fast enough to relieve himself.

"She's here, Dad," Walt had said mysteriously. "She's here now. The circle, it's complete. Everything'll be alright now.

But Michael wasn't so sure. He wasn't so sure about anything, but this…

This was just unbelievable.

Months ago, his son had started calling him with cryptic messages and Michael hadn't known what the boy was going on about. Fantastic tales about islands and monsters that couldn't be seen and black smoke, and Michael had listened because frankly he was happy to hear that his boy was even talking to him, that his mother wasn't taking even that small privilege away.

And then two weeks ago, everything had changed. Memories had come flooding back, taking over his entire existence and Walt's calls had become more frequent and more persistent; his mother was starting to notice and get agitated. She would all Michael too, complaining that whenever she questioned Walt about his and his father's conversations, the boy would become elusive in his response, sometimes even outright lying. She wanted to know what was what, but then…even Michael felt the need to smooth over the truth with a half lie.

"He's just curious about construction, is all," he told her once, a few days back. "You know how boys are."

It was enough for her then, but it wasn't enough for him now. He was normal, or as close to it as he could possibly be and then this had to go and happen, and now he couldn't tell whether the life he was living now was the life he was suppose to be living or was this life the dream and that world was the reality? And if that world was the reality, could he actually commit murder?

Michael's leg seized up, unbearable, and he whimpered, eyes tearing up. He looked up, but the nurse was gone, speaking with other nurses, perhaps gossiping about the doctor's and who heard what about whose personal lives. God, he needed help for the pain.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dawson, I hadn't realized you were here," came the kindly voice. Michael looked up and smiled a weak smile, but one nonetheless.

"Dr. Gale," he said with some relief. He felt a momentary red light of alarm go off in his head as the man smiled again at him, but Michael brushed it aside. This was Henry Gale. Dr. Henry Gale. The man had been seeing him for sometime now, helping him to manage his pain and get back on his feet; he had nothing to fear.

But his memories, the other ones he was trying desperately to suppress – he was not a murderer; he'd never anyone – were saying otherwise. They told him to beware, and while he could not reach in there and sort through the muck of his thoughts, he was going to trust his more recent memories. Of the neurologist taking on his case. Those made more sense anyhow.

"You leg still giving you trouble?" Dr. Gale asked, setting next to him and putting down the chart he was holding. As the man bent over to inspect Michael's leg, the black man just happened to glance over in curiosity at the chart.

Cortez, Ana-Lucia.

Cortez.

Ana.

Lucia.

Ana-Lucia.

Michael frowned, memories piecing together slowly.

It was raining that day that he heard the gunshot, saw the quicksilver flash of the bullet and saw Shannon die.

He, Michael, had the gun in his hand and he was about to pull the trigger.

I'm sorry.  
I'm sorry.

They took his boy. They took…

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

I'm—

"Ouch!" Michael cried, memories scattering, and he tried to scramble after them, but to no avail. His brown eyes met Dr. Gale's as the man gave a saccharine smile – The warning bells in Michael's head were loud and shrill like a fire truck's and twice as annoying – and said, "I'll get the nurse to get you something for the pain."

Michael nodded numbly as the man picked up his chart – Ana-Lucia! His mind screamed. Ana-Lucia! – and walked off to find a nurse. It was as the man was moving partway down the hall, Michael's eyes following him to see which nurse he spoke to, that his eyes lit upon the hospital bed that was being wheeled out of a sterile white room by four burly orderlies. He frowned as a pair of woman's feet came into his line of vision, immobile and clearly strapped to the bed.

A psych patient?

He saw a waist next, that strapped too, and then the orderlies turned the bed to an odd angle so that he could only see the woman's side, but not her face. He head was turned to the opposite direction and all he got was a cascade of dark, curly hair. But even from that vantage he could feel a wave of familiarity wash over him and a sense of dread so powerful and so deep that he almost doubled over from the shock of it. Nothing good, nothing good, would come to that patient, whoever the poor soul was.

He looked up and away as Dr. Gale approached again with a very familiar orange and white capped bottle, and Michael could feel his body straining in anticipation at the thought of ending his pain. Gale shook the bottle and Michael smiled a tired smile, but as Gale came near he heard a ding and elevator doors whooshing open. His eyes flew to the sound as the woman's head turned over. He saw her face.

He saw her face.

Her face.

"She's here, Dad."

"The circle is now complete."

"She's here, Dad."

"Everything'll be alright now."

She's here.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

The gun was in his hand.

Oh God.

He pulled the trigger.

Cortez.

I'm so sorry.

Lucia.

I'm sorry.

Ana.

Oh God.

Ana Lucia Cortez.

Michael sprang up from his seat, despite the pain, despite everything and shouted, "That's her!"

"That's her!"

Jack heard the shout, and whirled at the sound, head whipping so fast it almost sprained. He saw Ana Lucia just before she disappeared into the elevator, and strange sights of all strange sights, saw Michael limping after her in blind panic. The man's were wide, wild, fiery brown pits and he was flailing against the orderlies and the male nurses who were trying to restrain him.

"Where does that elevator lead?" Sayid asked, a raised whisper amongst the commotion and noise. Jack could feel the man's breath against his neck and the hairs rose as gooseflesh broke out along his skin.

"Is there another?" Sayid asked. Jack nodded, not glancing back to see how close the Iraqi man was standing or how he had been able to keep up with Jack throughout the hustle and bustle of the hospital. But Sayid was a soldier. He was used to so much worse.

"Where?" the Iraqi asked, and Jack motioned his head to the left, away from the commotion, near to the gift shop.

"I'll join you," Jack whispered back. He could feel the Iraqi shake his head. It was in the air pressure and how, for a moment, Jack could feel the air currents move as Sayid shook his head.

"But you won't know how to find her!" Jack protested before the other man could speak. "I do. I know where they'll take her. If Gale's got her…"

"He's a neurologist?" Sayid interrupted. Jack didn't say anything, nothing at all, but Sayid continued on, not heading: "Then he will be going to the Neurology Department, and that is where she will be."

The warmth of the other man at Jack's back moved off, and Jack felt cold and unbalanced and angry. He turned as the Iraqi man was moving towards the elevators, but before he could shout or call Sayid back the man called over his shoulder, "Go get Michael. We may need his help too." And then the man was gone, too far for Jack to shout and not call attention to either one of them. Calling attention would be dangerous, especially if his father were lurking somewhere on these halls. Jack, instead, followed Sayid's instruction, angry that he wasn't barging after the other man and telling him that this was his hospital, dammit, and he was going to be the one giving orders.

But this wasn't the island, and these people didn't care much for the ideas swirling about his head. He knew he had been their leader back on that lost rock, knew that he had had some weight before things all fell apart. He knew it, knew as surely as he knew his heart was beating and his brain was sending electric pulses to and fro from the nerves. He knew it, but in this world none of that mattered.

He could almost sympathize with Sawyer now, and that was saying something. This was frustrating, probably just as frustrating as it was for everyone tell him how much of a bad idea it was for him to show his face here until he and Sayid were able to make sure the hospital was secure for the others. After all, Jack knew that the Southerner had been and probably still was a con man, and that that status alone was enough to make any of the security guards and any of the cops (because Ana Lucia was, you know, a cop and if she was in the hospital it would stand to reason that some of her police officer buddies would be here too) suspicious of that familiar, but rugged face with a southern charm pouring from lips just as charmed. They'd probably peg Sawyer as someone who certainly shouldn't be here and probably haul him out of the hospital on reasonable suspicion.

But it still wasn't fair, in Jack's opinion, that Sayid was just taking over, when he Jack, knew this hospital better than the Iraqi. This was a rescue mission, yes, and while he was a doctor, this was his hospital; he should be calling the shots. Not playing errand boy.

And while yes, he was surprised to see Michael – well, not surprised; shocked maybe, but not surprised the Tailenders and the Fuselagers were popping up like weeds all of a sudden – he wasn't happy that the survivor he was going to see now was not the survivor he actually wanted to see.

"Mr. Dawson! MR. DAWSON!" Gale was shouting, when Jack finally came over. Dr. Gale – Jack felt the overpowering urge to punch the man and knock all his teeth, and felt that, in the other universe (reality or whatever), he'd be justified – was trying to restraint the black man, who was doing a pretty good job of almost knocking out Gale's teeth with his flailing limbs and chaotic waving of his cane. Jack never knew Michael had a cane.

"She's up there, man!" Michael was shouting back and fighting. "I gotta see—I gotta…Man, I almost shot her! I did shoot her. Move, man. Let me go!"

"Mr. Daw—"

"Michael!" Jack's voice cut through all the confusion, and he could feel a small sense of satisfaction that everyone had stopped and looked, turning and staring at him in shock. Michael shocked the most.

"J-Jack," the man said in awe, his brown eyes widening and body trembling. "Man, what're you—hey, man. My god-damn."

"It's alright, everyone," Jack said, going to Michael as the orderlies stepped off reluctantly and the male nurses moved like he was Moses and he was parting the Red Sea. He took the black man's hand as Gale shot him a look that both cold and puzzled. The man shot a look at the elevator, a peculiar look, before sneering at Jack and handing him a bottle of pills.

"Well, then, Dr. Shephard, if you'll take care of…Mr. Dawson. I have patients to see." Dr. Gale bustled off to the elevator, clutching a chart to his chest. The crowd started to disperse. Michael turned to Jack, alarm returning to his face.

"Hey, man, what the hell—?" Michael's gaze was searching. "What's going on, man? What's happening? What're you—"

"I'll explain it all later," Jack said, taking Michael's arm and leading him off. He handed the other man his pills, Michael taking them in a daze: popping the top and dry swallowing one. The two started off.

"But, but," Michael began. "But the woman…That was her, right? That was…?"

"Yeah, man," Jack replied, taking the man to the other elevator that Sayid had taken previously. "That was her."

Michael fell silent, and Jack too, pushing the elevator call button and waiting for the metal beast to descend. He felt, all of a sudden, like he was about to head forth into battle.

Sawyer was pissed.

Oh yeah, he had been pissed before, but about little spats really, tiny irritations that he didn't care for and wasn't going to try to recall.

But this pissed--the pissed he was now--was Mount Vesuvius in comparison to the other times. His temper wanted to boil over and explode.

He stopped in his pacing as Kate and Eko watched him, both seated on the hood of the car, not breaking their silence as he glared heated daggers at the hospital, cursing both Jack and Sayid and Eko, for that matter, and Kate on general principal because she was in the vicinity. His temper wanted boil over and he was having trouble keeping it in check.

After all, it really wasn't either of his companions' faults that he was a con man and he was wanted in fifteen states and that somebody there was probably going to recognize him and turn him into security where he would get arrested, again, and use Boone's mysterious money source to get him out. Again. And really, he knew, in his heart of hearts, that the success and failure of this mission depended solely on him and what he neglected to tell the other survivors: he'd met Ana's mother. And chances were, because for some reason Lady Luck was being a right bitch to him now, the older woman was in there with Ana Lucia somewhere, and that she'd probably spot him and call in the cavalry.

And he couldn't risk Ana because of his stubborn pride. So, he'd sent in Captain bin Laden and Jack-o the Boy Wonder.

But it didn't mean that he had to like that decision, not at all. And he didn't, at all. But he could trust Sayid; there was just something in the Iraqi's eyes that told Sawyer that the man would try his damnedest to get Ana Lucia back (and don't think for a second that the dark beast of jealousy didn't stir in Sawyer's chest because of that determined, set look in Sayid's eyes; it did, and it growled), and – while he still didn't trust or like Jack – he couldn't get around the fact that the other man knew that hospital. Now, how well the two were going to work together was anyone's guess; Sawyer could see the strength ebbing in Jack and cresting in Sayid, and why he was using ocean metaphors was beyond him; he was nervous, he was angry and he wanted his damn Rambina back.

"Dammit!" he cursed, and started pacing again.

"It's alright, Sawyer," Kate said, standing and trying to touch his shoulder and calm him. He paused only to glare at her, but she hadn't retreated her hand, only graced his shoulder then gently put more pressure in the touch. If he weren't an honorable man, and many people of course would doubt the honesty of his thoughts, he'd probably feel a small amount of wicked satisfaction at Kate's advances, while Jacky boy was out playing hero. But, the point was, Sawyer was an honorable man, something like a Southern Robin Hood and, frankly, even if that comparison didn't suffice, he just wasn't interested. Not anymore. Kate and her silly, childish games were a thing of the past, or the present, or something, but he just wasn't having it. His woman was up there in that hospital, with Gale, and that sick bastard was doing who knew what to her.

Sawyer took Kate's hand and removed it from his shoulder, she looked shocked and a might bit hurt, but Sawyer didn't care. He smirked at her, saw the light in her eyes grow again and said," I ain't interested, Freckles." The light whittled and died. She glared at him, huffed and said, brusquely, "Everything'll be alright."

She turned back to Eko, and Sawyer could almost laugh at the brazen look of incredulity in the priest's eyes. The man's gaze turned away from Kate whose own face had gone red with embarrassment, returning to its serious set.

"Let's hope so," Eko said. Sawyer's smirk dropped. He turned back to the hospital, studying each lit window and each window that wasn't lit at all. He felt the weight of the cell phone in his pocket, the one Jack had given him, saying that should anything happen, should they need any help or should they see Ana Lucia, they'd call immediately and let everyone know. Sayid had told him his cell number, and Sawyer was itching to check the phone just to see if he'd missed it somehow, even though it had never left his pocket and Jack had set the cell phone to vibrate and ring should the boy wonder or the bin Laden call.

Sawyer just wished they'd hurry up and call.

Just hurry up and friggin' call.

Author's Note: Whew! La-tee-tah! I'm back and wrote ten full pages for you of just weird stuff. Well, not weird, but I swore to myself that I'd finish this story and finish it I shall. It's just so much crap going on with my life and school and clubs and meetings and guh! But I'm back, and updating with this newest installment and thanx so much you guys for bearing with me and still keeping up with the fic!

PS: to all Jack-lovers, sorry for the way Jacky-boy sounds, his voice was all odd in my head; I swear I'll make him more noble in the next installment. That, and I've been watching the newer eps of House, MD so if you see some of that humor in here, blame David Shore.


	14. Chapter 14

**Title:** Fall Into The Light  
**Author: **GlowFish  
**Fandom:** Lost  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Pairing:** Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid  
**Summary:** Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago…  
**Warnings:** Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. I don't know Ana Lucia's mother's real name, so sorry for that mistake; Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"  
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: _Adrift_

**XIV.**

The department of Neurology had an almost sinister feel to it, as Sayid stepped off the elevators and the doors closed behind him a whoosh of finality, as if he had just sealed the doorway to his tomb. Sayid brushed away such thoughts, mind set on one target and one target alone: retrieve Ana Lucia. He could ponder of the over all eeriness of the Neurology department later when the Spanish woman was safe.

It was dark here, strangely so, and Sayid was on his guard, dark brown eyes scanning every nook and cranny, every corner and every doorway, letting nothing escape his trained, soldier's eye. His body was tense, muscles strained and sweat was breaking out on his forehead as he moved down the hall, cautious of the way he placed his feet, praying to every deity known to man, and maybe even the few that weren't, that he wouldn't be detected. This was a different world than the one he had gone to sleep to some time ago. In that other place, it was paradise – or almost paradise, despite the rampaging monsters and the layers and layers of secrets. There had been a lull to the island that had almost made it dream-like, that almost made it seem like the past trouble that had plagued him, had plagued them all, was just that: the past.

This world though…This world shattered the illusion, the illusion of both the island and that this place was anything like home. It wasn't home. It had as many layers of secrets and mysteries, and the mysteries were probably worse and more potent and deadly than those on the island. It was confusion and it was unbelievable, but they—whoever They were—had wrapped this place up in such a deceptive package, had made the deepest desires and dreams of the Fuselagers and the Tail-enders tangible and real that the ability to see the enemy was even more so shrouded by the familiarity.

Sayid paused, stiffening in slight alarm, his instincts going into overdrive, as his ears strained and his other senses flared, lungs taking in more and more and more air, breathing in the scents of linoleum and pinesol, chemicals and other such solutions, hearing the beep of distant machines and the whiz-whoosh sound of breathing apparati sounding from distant rooms; he was getting close.

He crept forward, cautiously looking around for doctors or nurses. They were strangely absent and that only contributed to the feeling of unease that was growing in the pit of his stomach. This place was too quiet, too still. Where was all the activity? He looked around, coming to the first doorway of one of the room's on this hospital's floor. He breathed deep, steeling himself for anything he might see, licked his lips and quickly peaked around the door's threshold, pulling himself back and flattening himself against the wall. His chest wanted to heave from all the tension, but he stilled his breathing to more calm breaths and swallowed back the lump in his throat.

From what he had been able to glean from his brief glance into the room, it was a security station of some sort. Monitors had flickered to different hallways, black and white screens showing the hustle and bustle of life in the other parts of the hospital. But the strange thing, the strange thing was that there was no security guard there, watching the screen themselves. Perhaps they were out using the bathroom or on break, but Sayid knew, serving in the Iraqi military, that a guard never leaves their post, or they have someone else man it until they return.

He took another deep breath, released it and took a longer glance into the room. It was white, clean and empty. Finally mustering up enough courage, he peeked further into the room, ducking his head into the doorway, peering around the threshold. It was empty. Sayid breathed a sigh and stepped fully into the room, surveying the screens with some curiosity. This certainly wasn't the time to let his love for machines cloud him or deter him from his task, but he crept forward to the computers regardless and ghosted a hand over their keys. He looked around, making sure that no one was around before turning back to the keys and the computer screens peering at them closely.

He saw the commotion in the hallway play out as Michael protested and Jack placated him, and Gale—Sayid felt an icy wash of anger and rage course through him at the sight of the vile creature of a man, and his hands itched to rip him apart limp from limp—speak with Jack. He watched, tense, wondering if the man would be so bold as to do something—what Sayid didn't know, maybe something sinister, in public—but no, he did nothing, only spoke with Jack, looked at Michael and then started towards the elevator.

Sayid stood straight up then as he heard the distant whirring of the elevator in some portion of the hall outside of the security room, a loud, tangible noise in the otherwise quiet of the department. He looked around, knowing that he couldn't just dash outside and hope to find a hiding place in another room or another part of the hallway. He looked around and spotted a supply closet as the elevator doors whooshed open somewhere outside and the sound of purposeful footsteps echoed down the hall.

He made a dash for it and swung open the door, dived in and shut it behind him, waiting in tense silence as he heard the sound of footsteps coming very close to the security room, held his breath with the footsteps stopped and he heard a frustrated sigh issued forth.

"Dammit!" came a very familiar voice that made his skin crawl. He had to hold back the urge to rush out of that closet and pummel Gale with all the anger and rage he felt. It was building like a pressured dam behind his eyes, ready to burst. The footsteps walked away from the door for a moment as Gale's voice rang out, "Mitchells! Mitchells, where are you? Why aren't you manning your post?"

Gale's voice echoed, sounded like booming thunder in the quiet hall, and Sayid wondered once again, why there was no other activity here. Where were all the people? Where was all the usual hustle and bustle of the hospital?

His thoughts were interrupted as another set of footsteps, heavy with the sound of stumbling, rushing feet (the security guard) and clearly coming from the direction that Sayid too had come, came bumpling down the hallway.

A man's voice said breathlessly, "Sorry, doctor, but I had bean burritos for lunch and you know how it just—"

Sayid could almost imagine Gale's look of disgust as the man said in annoyance, "I don't care about the state of your bowels, Mitchells. Just do you job. Which way did the others go?"

Sayid heard a rustling of clothes and footsteps coming deeper into the room—he drew back further into the closet—and then the sound of someone settling into the squeaky chair that had sat in front of the monitor screens.

"They're…ah….in exam room 4 with the patient," the guard said, and Sayid could hear something oozing like slim in his voice as the guard continued, "She's quite a looker too, you know? If she weren't all crazy and messed up, I'd certainly want to take a piece like that home with me to—"

Sayid felt that this was the only time he would be grateful to Gale, when the other man said, his voice dropping to a low hiss, "Keep your filthy thoughts to yourself, you bastard. That woman is more important than your neanderthal brain could ever comprehend. Now do your job and don't you ever leave this post again or I'll have your guts for garters."

The sound of agitated footsteps quickly retreated from the room and finally Sayid was left to contend with an irate security guard that muttered to himself, "She's still a hot little piece."

Sayid grimaced, shifting slightly, so as not to make a sound. He pushed the door open slightly and saw the back of the guard. A thin man, he could see, with unkempt and greasy brown hair underneath a badly worn guardsman's hat. Sayid's soldierly sensibilities were offended just looking at the man. No matter, he'd soon take care of that. He pushed the door open as the man gave an annoyed sigh, still muttering to himself, but Sayid could little about his words. The Iraqi man's body tensed, preparing itself for attack, feeling adrenaline flow through his limps; he crept up behind him, as the man turned slightly in his chair, glancing back.

The man's eyes widened, but before he could utter a sound or prepare a defense, Sayid was on him, taking his neck and face in his hands and snapping it viciously until he heard and felt a satisfying crunch, felt the man's neck break and the man's body struggle before going limp. He let the dead man slump back into his chair as Sayid turned this way and that, looking for any witnesses. There was no one, and he would admit that he had felt a vicious sort of satisfaction at killing the man. He knew he would feel repentant later – even thought the man probably deserved what he got anyway – but for now, he was running on pure adrenaline and the instinct of retrieving what had been stolen, consumed with the need to get Ana Lucia back.

He stepped out of the room, looking down either hallway, wondering which way to go. Exam room four. Where was…?

He glanced back into the room, glanced at the monitor screens as his heart stopped cold. There, on one of the screens, he saw Ana Lucia. She was strapped to some kind of contraption, bound and immovable, with a group of who Sayid could only assume were doctors surrounding her. One had on a pair of gloves and was holding a nasty looking bit of hospital equipment. Sayid couldn't even tell what its use was for. And then Gale stepped into the room, and Sayid was racing down the hallway now, not caring it if he made a lot of noise or if his footsteps echoed like thunder. The look in Gale's eyes was not good.

It was most definitely not good.

The medication was certainly starting to wear off and Ana Lucia was starting to become more and more aware of hr surroundings. It must not have been very potent, only enough to have her drowsy enough to not make a fuss as they took her, wherever they took her. She looked around. The first thing she noticed were the other doctors, staring at her with looks of curiosity and fascination. The next thing she noticed was that one of them held a nasty bit of what appeared to be a breathing apparatus, mask and all, in their grasp and that their hand was trembling.

"What the hell is going on here?" her voice came out groggy, but there was still force behind it. There was still venom and the promise of destruction should a caged beast be uncaged. She tried to lift her arms and found that she was board to a hospital table that stood her upright and facing the room's other occupants.

"What the hell do you people want from me?"

No one answered, but the door came open and Henry Gale stepped in, his features twisted in what Ana Lucia could perceive as agitation and anger. Two emotions that did not bode well for Ana. He looked up at her, his gaze icy and cold, and she would've whimpered, felt the bottom drop out of her stomach and pulled more forcefully at her bonds. If she could just get loose. If she could just…

"What do you want?" she asked Gale, her voice small as a lump rose and lodged itself into her throat. Gale fixed her with an icy, calculating glare.

"How did you do?" he asked, ignoring her question. He stalked up to her as the other doctors got out of his way. His stopped a few inches from her face as she tried to pull away. He reached and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look him straight in the eye.

"How did you do it?" he asked again, his grip on her chin tightening until it hurt and she knew there was going to be bruising.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Gale," she growled as more of her head cleared and the medications wore off more fully. "I don't know what. The. Hell. You're. Talking. About!"

He chuckled a mirthless laugh, shaking his head and looking at her closely.

"You've got to know something," he said, the humor not in his tone either. "Eveything we've done. On the island, here, it's all crashing down around our ears and it's all because of you. What makes you so damned special, huh? What makes you so unique? 42-C, my ass."

She squirmed as he turned away from her, glaring at his fellows. It only she could get these damned bonds to release her…

"Are you ready, Doctor Smiley?" he asked the man who held the odd breathing apparatus device. The man nodded and Ana Lucia looked on with a mixture of confusion and dawning fear as the man turned to his machine, pressing a few buttons. It whirred to life, sounding like rushing rivers and blowing winds, but she knew, somewhere deep down, that it wasn't going to be nearly as pleasant as the way it sounded. She struggled with renewed vigor as Gale grabbed the mask and turned to her.

His smile was saccharine and cold, and she felt shivers run up and down her spine.

"Just…try to relax," he said in a soothing tone that made Ana Lucia's skin crawl. "This may hurt a little."

And without preamble, before she could scream, he placed the mask over her face. The first thing she felt was cold, like icy cold, like someone had plunged her head long into the Artic Sea with nothing to protect her. Hundreds of knives of ice seemed to stab into her all at the same time. Her body went rigid with the pain, her eyes widening in shock. She could scream, felt it lodged in her throat, her mouth wide, her lungs screaming for air, but getting none.

There was nothing around her but quaking thunder and the world didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore, except this agony shooting through her system, unrelenting, and just when she thought she would go mad from the arctic chill coursing through her limps, the sensation changed.

Hellfire and brimstone.

She was being burning from the inside out, consumed by a inner fire that built higher and higher like a funeral pyre. And this time she did scream.

"What do you think's going on, man?" Michael asked as Jack watched the elevator numbers impatiently, willing the slow device to move a bit faster. His hands were twisting anxiously in his pockets and his foot was tapping on the floor with an incessant rhythm.

"I don't know, Michael," Jack replied shortly, hoping the man would get the hint. But the other man kept going, talking more to himself than to Jack.

"My boy was right all along," Michael said, quietly. "He was right all along and I just thought he was being crazy. I thought he was just…But then, you know, he started telling me things and a few days ago, I started seeing the stuff he was telling me. Islands and weird monsters. I thought I was going crazy for a moment. I thought maybe my meds had an adverse affect. I didn't want to say nothing, though. My boy's mother might've taken away what little privileges I have left…"

"Michael," Jack said impatiently, whirling on the man, but he stopped before his annoyed rant could start. The other man was tired, his forehead criss-crossed with pulsing veins as the black man clutched his legs, rubbing his hands vigorously up and down his thighs. Jack took pity on him.

"You don't have to be here," Jack said softly, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder. Michael looked up, but his gaze was distant as if he were reliving some past memory that Jack could take no real part of. Michael said, "Look, man, I would ever…I mean, what I did back there…I didn't mean to…I'm not a killer, Jack."

Jack frowned at the man, puzzled, feeling his memories trying to resort themselves and his mind work to figure out what it was that Michael was talking about. His memories were still fuzzy, no thanks to the strange predicament they found themselves in, but the more he got around the others, the less the fuzziness stayed. He gripped Michael's shoulder hard.

"Hey, man, it's okay," he said. "We're okay, okay? Don't clam up on me, mike. I need you."

The other man nodded as the elevator gave a ding and Jack turned, only to be confronted with a very frantic Sayid.

"Call Sawyer," Sayid said breathlessly. "Something's happening."

It was then that Jack heard it, the sound of distant screaming and it chilled him to the bone.

"Is that…"

"Call Sawyer!" Sayid barked, and Jack jumped in surprise, taking out the cellphone and dialing the other man's number. While it was ringing, he surveyed the hall and found himself quite puzzled.

"This isn't Neurology…"

"This isn't Neurology…" came Jack's puzzled tone as Sawyer whipped out his cellphone and answered. He growled, "I don't give a damn what's what; do you got her?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Sawyer could curse heaven for giving Jack-o the Boy wonder the friggin' cellphone.

"We've got a problem."

And Sawyer's breath caught short as Sayid took the phone from Jack and spoke.

"What problem?" the con man asked.

Don't let her be…Just don't let my Rambina be…

"They're doing something to her, harming her," Sawyer could hear the steel lacing Sayid's words, and if he weren't starting to get railed up himself, he would probably ponder which Sayid was he talking to: the vicious torturer? The soldier? The peaceful, gentle Sayid? Or maybe a combination of all three.

These were desperate times after all…

"That's it! I'm going in there," Sawyer growled, tossing the phone to Mr. Eko and marching towards the hospital. The priest grabbed him, and if it weren't for the fact that Sawyer's mother had been Catholic rest her soul, he'd have struck the preist right then and there. But there was something, a hardness to Mr. Eko's gaze, that made Sawyer rethink that idea. The priest spoke into the phone, but Sawyer wasn't listening. He was glaring at that hospital, wondering what the hell was going on.

"You can't go in there," Mr. Eko said as soon as he got off the phone with Sayid. "You could ruin any chance of us retrieving her if you do. You know that. Don't be brash."

"You wouldn't be saying that if it was someone you cared about!" Sawyer shouted and wished he could take back the words as soon as he said them. Eko's eyes became even more so hard as he said stiffly, "We wait."

Sawyer cursed soundly as the man retreated, sitting on the hood of the car. Kate looked like she was about to say something, but Sawyer hissed, "Not a damn word." And the woman fell blessedly silent.

Sawyer turned back to the hospital and prayed that lady luck would shine down on him one more time this night.

Pain.

Pain.

Agony.

She felt like her soul was being ripped from her body.

Maybe it was.

Maybe it wasn't.

All that existed was the pain.

The fire.

The ice.

Ripping through her, coursing through frayed nerves, destroying all sense of being and self. There was nothing, but white light shooting through her eyes and she wasn't sure if she was screaming still, but that her throat was feeling sore.

Her skin was burning.

Fire.

Pain.

Ice.

"Can you find anything?" came Gale's voice above the quaking thunder.

"Nothing ," came a woman's reply. "Nothing. She's an anomaly, and she's affecting the others."

"How?" asked another male's voice.

The woman replied, "Her appearance here. It was like a trigger. A shock wave. Maybe we shouldn't have had her killed."

"Forget about the island," came Gale's angry retort. "What is she doing to our efforts here?"

"She's changing the world around her," the woman replied. "The other subjects didn't show marked differences in their behavioral patterns until this one showed up. Now…"

"Now they're remembering," Gale said grimly.

Ana Lucia heard all of this, but could not comprehend. The pain was there, the agony, but she was able to listen and hear and heed. Were they talking about her? Was she the one they discussing? She didn't understand.

All she wanted to do was learn what was real. To know whether or not this world was the right world, or was that other world the right one? She just wanted to know what to trust, who to trust. She just wanted to feel like she could belong somewhere and didn't have to constantly feel like she was some sort of freak or that she didn't fit. Did she fit in this world with its understanding Danni, but with its lies and deceit? Or did she belong in that other world where her baby had died, where Danni left her and she felt dead inside?

Where did she fit? Where did she—"

There was a shout of surprise as the door to room came crashing open and Henry Gale called, "Stop them! Stop them! They can't—"

There came the sickening sound of bone being broken and a body slumping to the floor, a woman's scream and the rush of footsteps hastily leaving. And then, suddenly, the pain stopped. The ice. The fire. The agony. Gone.

Arms surrounded her, warm and solid, and her head rested on a chest with a heartbeat that was table and strong. Her body still thrummed, her nerves still twitched and she still felt the aftershocks. Her throat was raw and her eyes were watering, but she looked up into the face of Sayid Jarrah and felt a wave of relief wash over her, so strong and so powerful, that she would have cried. Probably did.

His voice was soothing, "It's alright, Ana Lucia. It's alright. We'll get you out of here."

She nodded, burying her face in his chest as he hoisted her in his arms almost as if she weighted little, arms tightening around her as if she were a frail creature that needed to be protected, and the thought came unbidden to her mind, 'He feels nothing like Sawyer.'

It was an odd feeling as he turned addressing Jack: "Go, make the way clear. Michael, go with him. Cause a distraction. Anything. We have to get her out of here before they come with re-enforcements."

The sound of footsteps took off as Ana Lucia's mind registered drowsily the name: "Michael?"

"It is alright, Ana," Sayid said and she could hear his voice rumbling in his chest as he spoke, carrying her cautiously out of the room. She looked up, her gaze swimming. She forced it to focus on his face.

"Are you sure?" she asked, feeling fatigue creeping up on her. He stopped, meeting her gaze with his own. His features softened when they peered down at her. He nodded, smiled slightly.

"I am sure," he replied. She nodded herself, and promptly passed out.

Jack rushed off with a limping Michael trailing behind, and whipped out his cell phone. He dialed Sawyer's number and when the man answered he said only, "We need a distraction."

He put the phone away and turned back to Michael.

"Here comes the fun part," he said, an excited glint in his eye.

A distraction, eh?

Sawyer eyed the car with a gleam in his eye. He turned to the priest with a smirk.

"Hey, Padre," he called. Eko looked up from his brooding. His eyebrow rose in question. "You think you can hi-jack an ambulance?"

It was strange, this floating feeling and she was still very much so warm, with someone's arms surrounding her comfortably and someone's warm breath brushing her cheek softly. She felt the scratchiness of someone's beard on that side of her face and she smiled slightly as warmth fluttered in her stomach. Her eyes opened, looking up, expecting to see warm brown skin the color of earth and straight black hair and dark brown eyes.

The eyes were not brown and were set in a face that was not swarthy. She wondered after herself as Sawyer grinned cheekily and said, "You gave us a scare there for a second, Rambina. Don't ever do that again."

She smiled for his benefit, her entire body still in pain and said, saucily, "If I can get a rescue like that one…I might rethink the whole kidnapping business."

Sawyer growled and she settled deeper in his arms.

"Because ramming the car into the hospital's front entrance and stealing an ambulance are always options we should definitely want to explore," Jack replied sarcastically.

"Where's your sense of adventure, Jack-o?" Sawyer asked, snidely. "We got away, ddin't we?"  
"By the skin of our teeth," Jack growled angrily. "And we had to steal another car and ditch the ambulance. We're fugitives!"

"Ain't so bad, doc," Sawyer replied, lazily. "Trust me."

"None of it will ever be over until we find out what they wanted with Ana Lucia," came Sayid's voice, and Ana could feel that warmth blossoming in her stomach again. She beat it down with a mental stick and looked up, seeing the man in question, looking at her with a pointed look.

"Not until she gets some sleep, Bin Laden," Sawyer growled back. "We'll go to Boone's and Locke's. They'll hide us and then we'll find some place safer and hide out there."

That settled the conversation then and there, and Ana drifted once again into blissful unconsciousness.

Author's Note: Hey! Update! does happy dance


End file.
